


Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon

by Saruman



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alliterations all around!, Humor, Jacward, M/M, Masturbation, No Hale Fire, Romance, Stilinski men moments, creative naming of things, double date gone awkward, fanfic writer Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saruman/pseuds/Saruman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...when his lover spread him open even more, until his knot had reached the size of a-‘. Of a what indeed. What would be a ridiculously large and yet somewhat semi-realistic size for a knot? Or rather for something being fucked into and out of an immortal vampire’s sparkling ass?</p><p> </p><p>Stiles is a fanfic author with a lot of imagination and a crappy commission to write.<br/>But what happens when fiction becomes reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon **

_Chapter 1_

 

 

‘He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside. His glorious wolf’s cock swelled deep inside of him, filling his very core.’ Stiles almost gagged at that.

‘”Knot me,” Edward moaned desperately, his body arched in untold pleasure, “I want everything of you!” And more he got.’ Stiles almost gagged at that, too, cursing every teenage girl out there rooting for Team Jacward (name pending).

‘Jacob accelerated his deep, long thrusts, plunging into Edward’s willing hole, so conveniently slick with how much Edward wanted him. “You are so nice and wet for me, Ed,” he groaned with a loud moan. “I think you can take my knot now.”’ Really? Really?? All those Creative Writing classes and Stiles found himself typing away at his laptop, reading the sentences he wrote to himself, all the while being thankful for the anonymity the internet granted him. He could only hope his teachers never found out who hid behind his pen name. Probably not, even Stiles himself sometimes had troubles remembering to sign in with “Ffisher’s Hire”.

Back to the task at hand, though. Stiles gagged in advance. ‘Edward could feel Jacob’s knot growing inside of him, that tantalizingly swelling feeling when his lover spread him open even more, until his knot had reached the size of a-‘. Of a _what_ indeed. What would be a ridiculously large and yet somewhat semi-realistic size for a knot? Or rather for something being fucked into and out of an immortal vampire’s sparkling ass?

 

Stiles shut the lid of his laptop with a groan, hiding his face in his hands. Why, oh why did they want him to write for Twilight?! Of all the possible fandoms out there, that ‘Kazam-kitten’ person had to commission him for a Twilight fanfic. Just _remembering_ the hours of research, consisting of watching all the movies – he wouldn’t touch those books with a stick – made him cringe.

Well, he shouldn’t complain too much. For 1) He got money out of this misery. And 2) There had been at least _some_ chemistry between Pattinson and Lautner. Stiles could’ve ended having to write something with Stewart’s stony face in the focus. He shuddered.

 

A knock to the door relieved him from his agonizing author’s pain, granting him the break he so desperately needed. Not least to finally get his homework done.

“Stiles, you still up?” His father’s face was sandwiched between the door and the door frame when he chanced a look in, looking ridiculous.

 

“Yep, dad. Gonna go to bed now, though.” Quick with the promise, slow with the fulfilling, but compromises had to be made, so his father could sleep at night, even when his son couldn’t.

 

“’Kay, kiddo. Was just wondering. Sleep tight. Love you!”

 

“Love you too, dad.” When Stiles heard his door snapping shut again, he opened his laptop once more, saving the “progress” he’d made (if one could call it that) before opening up another document with his essay due on Thursday. Two thousand words left to write, a whole night to write them and enough energy drinks to last through tonight and half a day tomorrow – his Adderall would have to take care of the second half.

 

Where to find two thousand words on Swiss’ canton Zurich was beyond him, though.

 

;:;:;:;

 

He ended up digressing at one point somewhere, writing almost three thousand words on Dadaism in the early 20th century, but Stiles couldn’t find it in him to delete what he had written, so it had to do. And Dada _had_ started in Zurich, so he might actually get away with it.

 

“Hey bro,” his best friend Scott greeted him as soon as Stiles reached the university’s parking lot in his (t)rusty Jeep. “Whassup?”

 

“Hey Scotty!” Considering the amount of caffeine coursing through his veins at this point it was a small miracle Stiles managed to get out of his car and greet Scott with a minimal amount of flailing and, even more important, jittering around.

 

“Rough night?” Scott asked immediately, noticing all the signs and recognizing them. Sometimes having a not quite family (but blood related nonetheless – there had been a nasty accident with scraped knees, split lips and bloody eyebrows at elementary school…) Best Bro wasn’t all that ideal.

 

“Let’s say it was long. Had that essay to write.”

 

“You’ve been writing nonstop for the past week!”

 

“That obviously wasn’t my essay.” And just like that Stiles knew what was to come. Scott made a lot of people think he was as dense as they came – cute, adorable even, but dense – but he was exceptionally perceptive, almost frighteningly so. And responsible to a fault.

 

“You really should concentrate on your education, Stiles! This isn’t high school anymore!” Was it time for the- “The profs expect more than some half-as… half-bummed essay about some random topic that’s totally unrelated to what you were supposed to write about!”

 

It was time for the… “Hey, Allison! Fancy meeting you here!” The Allison card worked every single time, proven once again by Scott swiveling around in search of his on and off girlfriend. “And, Scott? Don’t try to swear. Like, ever.”

 

Scott subjected him to the ‘Look of the Kicked Puppy’ (name pending) at that but remained quiet for the time being. When their paths split again at the entrance to where they taught veterinary medicine, their little argument had been forgotten and Scott sent Stiles on his way with a Heartfelt Hug (registered trademark of the Stilinski/McCall Feel Good Inc.) to last the day. Until lunch. That’s when Stiles would need his next fix of Scott at the latest.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Stiles made it through his day with a minimal amount of flailing, despite his heart stuttering every now and again, thanks to caffeine and Adderall. Never a promising mixture, but interesting more often than not, sometimes even amusing. For Scott. Not so much for Stiles, who really could do without trying to pronounce three words at once because there were so many thoughts _zooming_ around in his brain.

 

That’s why he liked writing so much. When the words stayed in place on a white sheet of digital paper, the only thing _zooming_ the cursor, Stiles felt like he was in charge of what came out of his head. Didn’t mean it was sensible all the time, but here at least he had the chance to edit.

 

Apropos editing… “Oh my God!”

 

“What is it?! Is it Allison?? Is she with that Isaac guy again???” Scott’s relationship with Allison was capricious at best, confusing the rest of the time. Right now they were probably off, judging by Scott’s insecurity.

 

“No, Scott, I haven’t seen her with him. Just remembered the editing that’s waiting for me at home…”

 

“Another essay to write already? Or is it one of your smu-… erot-… of your stories?”

 

“Yes, it’s one of my smut fics, thank you very much. And, remember what I told you about swearing this morning? That applies to generic curse words as well. You really, really shouldn’t try to use them.” Scott wasn’t made for swearing – everyone knew that, Scott just really, really wanted to use the words all the other boys used, wanted to play with the bad guys. Only, he couldn’t. Adorable, that guy, he really was.

“Anyway, I need to get home. Dad will be there soon and I promised to cook tonight.”

 

“Only because you know he’d bring in takeout if you wouldn’t. And that’s the only priority you got straight, buddy. Now keep working on the others, like school work!” Scott wisely declared. And he was right, but Stiles didn’t need to let him know that.

 

“I happen to like cooking just fine, okay? And I’ve been craving for Brussels sprouts for weeks now, might as well live up to my European roots and cook some _brukselka_.” He probably perverted the Polish pronunciation, but his European roots only existed on paper, both his parents had been born in the States, so sue him.

 

“That sounds… disgusting. Anyway, tell your dad hi from me, ‘kay?”

 

After another awesome Heartfelt Hug® Stiles managed to get into the Jeep and out of the parking lot. Just when he turned on the street, a sleek, black car cut his right of way, tires screeching in the turn and leaving skid marks on the asphalt.

The car looked great, the maneuver looked awesome, and Stiles looked on in amazement, waiting for whatever person would climb out of the sports car. When a honk behind him reminded him of his state of being a traffic block right now he continued on his way home.

 

Who in Beacon Hills owned that kind of car anyway? Well, there was Jackson and his Pretentious Princess Porsche (PPP in short), but even that douche bag in the high class car couldn’t compare to the Black Badass Beast (Triple B, to minimize the danger of confusion) he’d seen today.

Stiles hadn’t seen the license plate, so looking that up was out of the question – not necessarily because it was just on the wrong side of the law (as the Sheriff’s son he tended to see them more as guidelines, anyway), but because it was almost impossible to look up a car’s owner without knowing the license plate.

 

All the more time to get that thing for Kazam-kitten over with. Werewolves knotting fairies in disguise – what had his writing come to?

 

;:;:;:;

 

Four days (including the weekend) passed until Stiles was reminded of the New Car in Town. Reminded in the form of said car pulling into the university’s parking lot at break neck speed once again, this time before classes started.

A blonde bombshell got out at the passenger’s side; leather jacket, sunglasses, loooooong legs, big boobs and self-confidence written on her forehead in bold letters. In short: So out of Stiles’ league the way she reminded him of a girl in high school who’d had a crush on him back then wasn’t even funny.

 

When he could rip his eyes away from her curvaceous form TripleB had vanished already, leaving the parking spot empty of black sports cars. And respective license plates.

Stiles really needed to get his priorities straight. And with that realization came the sudden urge to hit his head against the steering wheel – Scott had been right all the time! Who’d a thunk?!

 

“You coming out or what?”

 

“Oh my god, Scott! Don’t do that!!”

 

“Don’t do what?”

 

“Sneak up on me like that, just to give me a heart attack. I’m only nineteen, let me at least live through twenty-one, I want to drink alcohol (legally) before I die!” Eventually Stiles’ heart had found back to its usual rhythm along his rant – a little faster than most, and pleasantly _alive_ , not thanks to Scott – and he remembered another important part of his answer, yet to be added. “And even though I’m coming _out of my car_ , I’m not _coming out_ per se.”

 

“Take your time, bro! I’m not watching the cock… CLOCK!”

 

“Thank you, Scott that was beautiful. Now let’s get this day over with, okay? And while you’re not watching the clock, you don’t happen to have watched that black muscle car, right?”

 

“No, why would I?” Scott said it like neither a nice car nor a Blonde Bombshell were worthy of his attention. As long as Allison wasn’t the driver of said car, or said bombshell, it probably wasn’t…

 

“Yeah, why would you. Aaaanyway, let’s head inside, get things done, take the next step to being responsible adults and all that.”

 

“Stiles, you will never be an adult; you know that, right?” And just like that Scott had managed to get Stiles back into the realm of reality most (sane) people shared. It was about time, too, because the mass of students heading for the university building had diminished noticeably. “We shouldn’t miss our classes anyway. Hurry up!”

 

 

And that’s how Stiles had to spend the first half of his classes without the warm, lingering comfort of a Heartfelt Hug®, a fact that made his mood darken and his usually sunny, if slightly annoying, personality somewhat subdued. Even Lauren, one of his lecture buddies (he exchanged notes with her and used the more boring classes to exchange gossip, as well) knew better than to bother him; she couldn’t help but ask him what’s crawled up his ass and died at the end of the third class, though.

 

When he didn’t get to see Scott for lunch and couldn’t get a hold of his phone, either, Stiles’ mood was at a new low. He snapped at people passing him in the corridors, didn’t even pretend to pay attention to his professors and when they were assigned a group project everyone in his group avoided talking to him. That’s when he finally got out of his funk and sent a reassuring smile at the others. “Sorry guys, I’m okay now. So, what are we going to do?”

 

“We were just, uhm. Kinda thinking about, ehm. Who’s got to do the research and stuff?” a nondescript guy across from Stiles stuttered, his eyes never meeting Stiles’. Instead they were focused on someone to Stiles’ right he hadn’t bothered looking at yet, so he did that now.

And maaaan should he have looked there sooner! It was Blonde Bombshell, and she looked even more overwhelming from up close than she had done earlier.

 

“Oh, hey! I’m-“

 

“You’re Stiles. I know.” The way she said it made it sound like an invitation to her bedroom, his name a sinful purr on her lips. And how she could purrrrr a word without any ‘r’s in it was totally beyond him.

 

“Well, yeah. And you are?”

 

“Ts… Of course you wouldn’t recognize me. I’m not the weird epileptic girl from high school anymore. Erica. Reyes.” Her voice was just as confident as her whole demeanor, the sharp edges of her personality contrasting with the soft curves of her body, her golden mane pouring over her black leather jacket – and Stiles couldn’t see the Erica he’d known back in high school in the woman on the table. She was frightening.

 

“Wow, you sure… grew up.”

 

“That’s _one_ way to put it, Stiles. You’re not bad yourself, though. Wanna see if we can make more things grow?” How was it as soon as Stiles had realized boob persons just didn’t do it for him (and it only had taken ten years of crushing helplessly on Lydia Martin to come to that conclusion) they threw themselves at him? And Erica did have boobs that could be fatal when thrown.

 

“Maybe we’ll concentrate on the assignment before…”

 

“Stiles and I will do the research work, you make sure to get the presentation done until next week so we can fill it with stuff. Now off you go!” Erica’s tone was dismissive, but before Stiles could flee the scene, she grabbed his wrist (how had she rounded the table in that amount of time?!) and tugged him after her. “Research work, little Stiles, come on!”

She didn’t need to make sure he was following; with her demeanor, she could be assured every testicled person on campus would attend to her needs, and some of the non-testicled persons as well.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Erica led him back outside, turning towards the parking lot. The tiring day was over (still hug-less, though), and still Scott wasn’t anywhere in sight to make up for the lack in hugs by delivering more hugs, so Stiles found himself turning to Erica instead. Not that he wanted to hug her, per-se, but she promised to be warm and soft, so maybe he could convince her in the most platonic way…

 

“What are you doing??”

 

“Ehrm, trying to hug you?”

 

“You’re scared of me, Stiles! Why would you willingly touch me?”

 

“I’m not _scared_! Nervous, maybe, a little unsettled, possibly, but not scared!” She didn’t need to know that he indeed was scared. And hadn’t she hit on him just moments ago? All he wanted was a- “HUG!”

Scott turned around, finding Stiles in the blink of an eye and jogged over to them with a sheepish grin. And was that his apologies face?

 

“Sorry, Stiles, I- uhm…” Yep, it was. “I met Allison in the hall and we kind of-“

 

“It’s okay, bro, go with her, make up, make out, don’t tell me about it and we’re cool.” Stiles was happy for Scott, he really was (as long as the Capricious Couple got along, that is), and he wanted them to be together; just… Like, right now? While Stiles was stuck with Erica, the Blonde Bombshell of Boobs, he could’ve used the reinforcement. Or at least Scott’s distractingly adorable puppy eyes – cute seemed to be Erica’s type after all. Not that Stiles was particularly cute, but he sure wasn’t hunk material, either.

 

“’Kay. Thanks, bro! Come on, get your hug before I have to go!” Finally, FINALLY Stiles at least got his hug, then he peeled himself off Scott’s broad chest and shoved him away. “See ya tomorrow, Stiles!”

 

 “Now that the hugging thing is out of the way I’m all yours,” Stiles declared, turning back to Erica. The girl looked very amused by what she’d witnessed, but didn’t comment on that.

 

She did comment on Stiles’ declaration, though. “All mine, hu? I can work with that…” She was all up in his business again, almost rubbing up against him and it made Stiles very uncomfortable.

 

“Maybe not _all_ yours, after all…” he tried to reason, but Erica didn’t seem to care much about what he said. Instead she pressed her face close to his throat, nuzzling his neck and feeling him up in general. It was all very weird.

 

“Stop that!” Oh, finally! The voice of reason saved Stiles from his untimely demise by awkward! And what a voice reason had – authoritarian, obviously used to being obeyed to, yet with a soothing quality to it; every bodily reaction Erica’s ministrations failed to arise, this voice did.

 

“Oh come on, I’m sure he likes it!” Erica positively whined, but stepped back nonetheless, giving Stiles much needed space to breathe. And the possibility to look at his savior in his shining… black leather jacket armor.

 

“You know he didn’t.”

 

“He would’ve, at some point! Look how cute he is!”

 

“Only because he’s good looking doesn’t mean you can assault him like that! I’m not discussing this and you’re getting in the car. Now.”

 

Stiles didn’t care for what was said. He was busy taking in the newcomer’s appearance; he looked fit (make that buff) in his black leather jacket and black jeans (oh, they did things to his thighs!), the dark grey Henley he wore under the jacket hiding little of his rippling muscles, and his looks became downright obscene where his shirt ended in a v-neck and showed off hints of the guy’s clavicle. His throat was all muscles and cords, leading to a stubbled jaw, chiseled by the gods and, well, Stiles was a goner. A goner with a boner, as soon as he reached the man’s eyes; eyes that were an indescribable mix of blue and pale green, and despite their light color they were piercing and intense. Stiles wanted them to wander down his naked, flushed body.

 

“Stiles, you with me?”

 

“Wh- what?” Stiles wasn’t with anyone! He was free like the wind, unattached and very okay with changing that in favor of being attached to that wall of leather and muscles, thanks for asking.

 

Instead of answering Erica gave him a suspicious look, one eyebrow lifted higher and higher while her nose kinda wrinkled. “Not with me then,” she mumbled under her breath, then spoke up again. “The research thing? Wanna get it started today? Derek here can give you a lift to where we live.”

 

 _Derek here_ being the broody wet dream on legs, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his feet planted on the ground a shoulder’s width apart. And was it normal for that pose to underline the almost bulging quality of thigh muscles like that? Apropos bulge…

 

“Stiles!”

 

“Oh, eh, sorry! No, uhm, I can take my Jeep, if that’s okay? Follow you home or something?”

 

Broody Boy (aka Derek) nodded gruffly (don’t ask how he managed that, he just did) and turned towards TripleB, motioning Erica to get in at the passenger’s side. “Try not to get lost behind me.”

 

Stiles jumped into his (t)rusty Jeep and started the engine, slowly creeping out of a slot that was originally designed for a bike or something, and when he had managed the feat (not without a proud grin on his face) TripleB was nowhere to be seen. “Dammit!”

Screeching tires and an annoyed sounding HONK helped him find Derek and Erica, and therefore TripleB so he could follow them out of the parking lot and towards the preserve out of town.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Many a days had Stiles spent out here when he’d been younger and full of adventurous energy. And many a times had Scott spent bent over and wheezing for breath when his asthma had acted up – ah, good times were had.

Now he could see his Jeep bent over somewhere and wheezing, though – the street (read: dirt path) they took through the woods did things to the car’s shock absorbers Stiles rather wouldn’t think about. It was a small miracle Derek’s sleek sports car could take the rough ride, when even Stiles’ off-roader had troubles to deal with it.

 

Eventually they reached a driveway that was in way better shape and the shaking came to a halt. Thankfully; Stiles’ teeth couldn’t take more of the rattling without becoming loose.

At the end of that driveway loomed a manor, big and imposing, yet strangely homey and welcoming, with a small porch out front and opened windows showing there were people inside. ‘The Hale House’, Stiles’ mind helpfully piped in, stating the obvious. _Of course_ they’d be headed towards the Hale House, of all the houses in Beacon Hills. And of course Derek was a _Hale_.

 

“Sooo, you two live together?” Stiles inquired as he got out of his car, trying to hide behind his Jeep or else he’d be seen by someone from inside the house. Yes, it had been years and yes, Stiles wasn’t the lanky kid from back then anymore, but the condemning look on Laura Hale’s face from when she had to drag him out of a well was still fresh in his mind. As were her hissed words: “Don’t make me get you out of a well ever again, Timmy!”

Derek Hale’s sister was a scary, scary woman. And of course she was standing at the porch, watching Stiles trailing behind her brother and her brother’s (not very faithful) girlfriend.

 

“Derek, who is it you’re bringing with you?” she asked, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. The look she threw towards Stiles spoke volumes of what she thought of him.

 

“This is Stiles; he’s in Erica’s project group, research or something.”

 

“Oh, I see. Nice to see you again, Stiles. Learned how to swim by now?” He had, thank you very much. Not so much in a murky, tight well shaft, though.

 

“I think I can manage,” he answered and ignored the confused looks he got from Derek and Erica. “So no lifesaving today, I hope.”

That earned him a grin and , dare he think it?, Laura’s toleration, shown in the way she stepped back from the door and hence granting him entrance into her home. “Be my guest.”

 

Inside Stiles had to take a moment to take the architecture in. The entrance hall was gorgeous, filled with potted plants and statures, painted pictures showing deep woods and lurking shadows along the walls, and wide stairs led up to the second floor. Several doors led from the hall deeper into the house, the same on the second floor, and Stiles could only imagine which doors led where.

“Want a tour?” Erica sidled up next to him, once again all in his business. “We can start in my room and work our way down…” She didn’t make it sound like a tour of the house.

 

“I think I’m fine… If you could tell me where the restroom is, though?” Everything to get out of her immediate presence.

 

“Up the stairs, first door to your right,” Derek was quick to supply; maybe he was done with his girlfriend’s blatant flirting with another guy.

 

“Thanks!” But before Stiles could flee up the stairs, a tall woman stepped into the entrance hall through one of the doors. She had the same dark hair her children had, as well as the high cheek bones that gave all the Hales an aura of authority and elegance.

“Oh, we have guests,” she said in a pleasant voice. “Aren’t you the Sheriff’s son? Stilinski, is it?”

 

“Eh, yeah, hello Mrs. Hale! The Sheriff’s my dad, I’m Stiles.” What else was there to say, really? Everybody knew the Sheriff, and everybody had at least heard of the Sheriff’s son with a disposition for chaos and the legally questionable.

 

“Welcome to my home, Stiles. You’re in Erica’s project group, I take it? It’s a pleasure having you here.” And that was about it; she turned around, waving to her son, and disappeared into the room she just came from.

 

“My pleasure…” Stiles’ wish to vanish was forgotten, overridden by the surprise of Mrs. Hale appearing amongst them. So he ended up trotting after Erica, who in turn followed Derek into the sitting room. An enormous room, dominated by a massive dining table and twelve (TWELVE!!!) chairs around it. Who needed that much space for dinner?

 

“You’ll work here; I’ll get you the password to our internet, you can use all the books in our library, you won’t need anything else.” Derek’s voice was calm, low and ordering. And hot. Stiles was doomed. He groaned deeply when he sat down on one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs at one end of the table, then buried his face in his folded arms. Figured he’d crush on the ridiculously handsome Hale offspring, just when his equally hot girlfriend sat right next to him and was _hitting on Stiles_.

 

“Aw, come on, Stiles, we’ll be great!” Erica’s words weren’t exactly encouraging, not in Stiles’ situation, but he took it like a champ.

 

“Let’s get this over with.” If his voice sounded slightly whining, it was nobody’s business but his.

 

;:;:;:;

 

It was the small victories, really. It was astonishing what workload Stiles’ brain could master when he really focused on one single thing; and focused he was, on the research that is, so that he could ignore the way Erica tried to play footsie with him, or how Derek stayed with them in the sitting room the whole time, sitting on the other end of the table and reading a newspaper. The pages rustled every time he turned one over and the sound grated at Stiles’ concentration, making him want to look up.

Was Derek one of the people whose lips moved with what they read? Was he engrossed in the articles or was he just pretending to read, so that Stiles wouldn’t come onto his girlfriend?

 

Anyway, Stiles focused, Stiles worked, Stiles researched the hell out of Google. Erica, multi tasking Bombshell that she was, was a real asset to their team, so that she sifted through the Hales’ impressive collection of interesting books, all the while pressing her foot against Stiles’ shin, then knee, later thigh. Stiles began to sweat, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Derek _had_ to notice what was happening under the table, and yet he didn’t move to do something about it.

Only after Erica’s pushy foot slid over the inside of Stiles’ right thigh and he couldn’t hold back a pathetic whimper Derek stepped in. “Enough!”

 

“Who are you to order me around, Derek, hu?! You’re not my Al-“

 

“I can go and get Talia if you wish!” That made Erica shut up instantly and her face paled. Her foot was gone that instant and Stiles felt like he could breathe again. It wasn’t so much that he was opposed to physical contact – he was nearly twenty years old, in the prime of his (theoretical) sex life, so he was as horny as the guy next to him (who, in this case, happened to be Derek, so he might be slightly more horny than him); it was the situation that got to him. And the fact that Erica was decidedly hot, yet she was a, well, a _she_.

Derek on the other hand…

 

 

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Erica said later and even though that didn’t necessarily mean it wouldn’t happen again, at least her apology sounded sincere, so Stiles just shrugged and finished packing his stuff.

 

“Won’t hold it against you. I mean, have you seen me? Who wouldn’t want something of that, right?” His grin was confident and wide, yet his eyes remained on Derek. Well, he probably wouldn’t. Didn’t mean Derek wasn’t prime material for the spank bank.

“I think we’re done here. ‘t was great working with you, Erica. See you tomorrow?”

 

“Cool, meet ya at school then.” And just like that Stiles’ adventure at the Hale House was over; no injuries, no embarrassment – Stiles counted both as a win when he sat in his Jeep and made his way home. And in the end, Erica wasn’t all that bad to be around, as long as she kept her pedicured feet and her manicured hands (more like paws with claws) to herself.

 

 

When he reached home his father’s cruisers stood in the drive way, driver’s door propped open, his dad standing next to it. “Where have you been, Stiles?”

 

“Hey dad! Was over at the Hale’s, project work with Erica Reyes. Oh, Mrs. Hale sends her regards.”

 

“I’d appreciate you telling me where you spent your afternoons, son. Even Scott didn’t know where you were!” The displeasure was strong in this one, Stiles thought.

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know where Scott was, either, so we’re even?” Never hurt to try.

 

“Just let me know where you are next time, okay?” The Sheriff sighed defeated, like he had to put up with a lot over the years. And maybe he had, but Stiles tried to be a good son. He really did, fixing dinner for his father, making sure he ate healthy, and even his ventures into not-quite-legally land had become far less. That had to count for something, right?

 

“I will, dad. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, Stiles. Just… I’m worried about you, okay?”

 

“Yeah, I know. Stay safe! I love you!” The words were a ritual by now, the Sheriff wouldn’t start a shift without hearing those words from Stiles every time he left the house for work. But they never lost any of their meaning, of how much Stiles wished his father was safe and loved.

 

“Love you too, kiddo.” Finally the Sheriff got into his car and maneuvered it out on the street, honking as a goodbye. Stiles felt overcome with worry for a second, but fought it back again. He was old enough to repress his dark thoughts. Dad would be fine. He better be.

 

 

Inside his house it was eerily quiet without someone else around, but it was nothing Stiles didn’t know from a lot of nights spent alone at home. Thanks to the afternoon spent working for uni he was free to start up his game console; a short text to Scott assured him he’d have a partner for a few hours killing noobs in Call of Duty before Stiles would have to work some more on that cursed fanfic he needed to write.

Despite having found some really, really appetizing inspiration (Derek would make a great werewolf, really would), Stiles refused to use the Hottie Hale as a reference for Jacob in the story. Dude deserved something better. Dude deserved Stiles, but that was neither here nor there.

 

;:;:;:;

 

What indeed WAS here was Scott, at least digitally, so the next hours were spent amongst grenades and artillery barrage.

“Dude, get your head in the game!” Scott yelled over the headset, making Stiles flinch with the volume.

 

“Don’t you go all Wildcats on me, Scott! I saved your ass, like, a million times!”

 

“Yeah, and two million times you got me shot with your crappy wingmanship! Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s not those assholes ripping us a new one.”

 

That was embarrassingly true, but Stiles was pretty sure Scott could live without the images Stiles’ mind came up with over the course of their game. Not that the carnage on screen was particularly arousing, Stiles just couldn’t get rid of images of Derek.

And wasn’t that an alarming thought. He’d met the guy only a few hours prior, hadn’t even really talked to him, but Stiles had nothing if not an overactive mind. Said mind was busy peeling Derek out of his sinfully tight jeans and those skin hugging henleys he wore.

 

“Sorry, bro, kinda feel out of it…” he mumbled in apology, missing yet another shot so that Scott once again was hit in the head.

 

“You know what? You work through whatever keeps you from being your awesome self – without telling me _how_ you do just that – and we try again later or something. I’m sure you have to write some vampire smut anyway.”

 

Scott, once again the voice of reason. Stiles needed new friends, the actual development was disconcerting. “Guess you’re right, Scotty. And I promise I won’t tell you about how I’m going to jerk off to the image of-“

A squeal that was abruptly interrupted by total silence told Stiles the line went dead. Pussy, couldn’t even take that much while Stiles had written _several_ heterosexual fanfics about what Scott and Allison had gotten up to in bed. And other places.

Ew, way to kill the mood.

 

The idea of getting up to that with Derek on the other hand… Welcome back, mood, nice to see you!

In the blink of an eye Stiles had shut down his PS3 and headed to the bathroom in somewhat of a stumbling gait.

 

When he reached the bathroom he couldn’t get rid of his pants fast enough, the tightness in his crotch too much to bear at this point. What was it with boxer shorts and making your dick flop around when flaccid, but trying to strangle it when you’re half hard or worse?

The jeans fell to the ground in a muffled thud, soon to be accompanied by Stiles’ bunched boxer shorts – and just in time! A relieved sigh escaped Stiles’ lips and he turned around, facing the shower. Unfortunately, that move made him meet his reflection in the full body mirror.

A lanky 19 year old met his gaze, all awkward angles, long limbs and scattered moles. Stiles shrugged out of his hoodie, plaid shirt and his T-shirt, mirror!Stiles mirroring his movements (oh the irony!), and there he was, in his naked glory: Stiles Stilinski, nerd extraordinaire and part time hipster (only he really wasn’t). Taking inventory of his own body was never exactly enjoyable, but in the light of recent events (read: meeting Derek) it made Stiles laugh out loud, a pathetic sound echoing from the tiled walls.

 

Then the echo changed, a new voice stating a fact. “He’s good looking”, Derek’s voice murmured into the empty room, wrapping around Stiles’ naked body like a cocoon and warming him from inside out.

“He called me good looking,” Stiles whispered, only now taking that little fact in. “ _Good_ looking!” And suddenly his limbs didn’t look all that lanky anymore, showed where he had filled out after long years of lacrosse practice, and even his belly seemed to show hints of abs. Stiles was _good looking_ and Derek had said so! Ha, world, in your face!

 

Eventually Stiles finished his turn towards the shower cube (and if there had been flexing of muscles and stupid helicopter flapping with his dick in front of the mirror beforehand, nobody needed to know) and stepped into the small stall. The first gush of water was ice cold and almost managed to make Stiles reconsider his plans, but as soon as the temperature reached a bearable level (and Stiles remembered just what exactly climbing out of a lowered car did to Derek’s thighs in these painted on jeans), all thoughts of not partaking in some Stiles alone time disembarked.

 

Stiles was fully on board on the MS Sterek, a ship he could totally get behind. Or in front of, really. Anywhere near Derek was okay with him.

He had a pretty good idea how he would start their journey, too. At first, he would step up to Derek, letting his own arms gliding along Derek’s into the sleeves of his leather jacket, until they were pressed chest to chest and Stiles could intertwine their fingers. Then he would wait for Derek to close the distance between their lips, press their mouths together in a first, shy kiss, like testing the waters. Stiles would probably moan into the kiss, he was a sucker for romance and kisses, was almost always vocal when his mouth was involved. When Derek would hear that sound, he’d deepen the kiss, would coax Stiles’ lips open and delve into his mouth.

The kiss would turn bruising in its intensity, teeth clashing and tongues exploring, all the while Stiles would be moaning into Derek’s mouth, maybe he would rub against the other man as well; but they wouldn’t move too much, wouldn’t be able to with them both being stuck in the same leather jacket.

At one point Derek would withdraw from the kiss, maybe trying to say something, but Stiles wouldn’t let him, would follow Derek’s mouth to have that feeling of rough stubble chafing against his sensitive lips again.

 

Stiles could see it right in front of him, his imagination feeding him all the things he needed.

 

 

Derek pressed against Stiles again, short and decisive, then withdrew. “Stiles, my jacket.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry…” Stiles let go of Derek’s fingers, but he did so reluctantly. When his own limbs left the sleeves, he used his regained mobility to slide the jacket down the other man’s arms, feeling the impressive musculature bulging under his touch. The leather jacket fell onto the floor with a muffled sound, none of them caring about it when their lips met again.

“Derek.” Nothing more than that, Stiles just needed to say the name, taste the sound while the man’s taste still lingered on his tongue. It made his lips tingle.

 

“Stiles,” Derek answered with gusto, dark promises and dirty secrets all wrapped up in that single name. Almost as dirty as the thigh that pressed against Stiles’ legs, slotting in between his own thighs and rubbing against where Stiles’ body was eagerly communicating his want. “I can’t wait to see you.”

 

Never before had Stiles heard those words said to him. “I want you to see,” he stuttered and blushed. Derek had said he was good looking, so why shouldn’t he look?

 

“Okay. Show me.” It was Stiles who said the words out loud, but the echoes in the bathroom and his own imagination made them sound like Derek's voice. Commanding. Direct. Again Derek was standing right in front of him.

 

And so Stiles showed him. He stepped back from Derek, bringing a few feet of distance between them – it helped him breathe and made for a better view. Slowly he shimmied out of his own jeans, the fabric sliding along his legs until they hit the ground and Stiles stepped out of them.

 

“The shirt next.”

 

He had always thought stripping a shirt had to look as sexy as possible, so he tried a move he had seen in oh so many pornos. Crossing his arms in front of his body Stiles gripped the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head, lifting it and revealing his upper body to Derek’s hungry gaze.

 

“Now the boxers.”

 

Stiles shuddered, but didn’t falter in his movements. Nimble fingers rolled the waistband down, showing off a strip of light, tender skin; Derek’s eyes zeroed in on that, hungry and impatient. When the shorts pooled around Stiles’ ankles, Derek groaned and licked his lips.

 

“Touch yourself. For me.”

 

He did so without a second thought. His long fingers closed around his own length, a desperate hiss leaving his lips at the tightness around him. Stiles couldn’t help but thrust into the circle of his hand, reveling in the slick heat and pressure. The slick and slide was easy, his hand flying over his dick in a desperate mission. “Derek.” Again, only the word, two syllables, countless wishes and needs.

 

“I’m watching you, Stiles.”

 

And watching he did; Derek’s eyes never left Stiles’ groin, didn’t miss a single stroking motion his hand did on his cock. Stiles’ dick seemed to grow even more under such close scrutiny, his head an almost angry purple with flowing blood this close to the surface.

It didn’t take much more for Stiles; Derek’s eyes, his intense gaze, the way he focused on Stiles and Stiles alone.

 

“Come for me. Now, Stiles.”

 

There was no resisting that voice; Stiles came in thick ropes, white semen spraying over his fingers and painting the shower wall in a creamy white.

Stiles opened his eyes and was back in his shower, warm water streaming down his body and washing away all evidence of his recent orgasm; an orgasm of an unknown intensity, at least for a solo ride under the shower without further equipment.

 

Stiles was spent, sated and squeaky clean when he left the shower again, a goofy grin reflecting in the fogged mirror. “I’m good looking. He said so.”

 

;:;:;:;

 

Stiles didn’t write a single word for the commission, he wasn’t in the mood. What might seem a little strange, since he just had jerked off, his libido in top shape, obviously, but tonight was for Sterek, not Jacward.

Not for the first time “Jacward” sounded like “awkward” in his head, and that would not besmirching his Sterek thoughts!

 

“You’re good looking too, Derek,” Stiles confided in the darkness before he sank back in his pillows. “Very much so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya, fellow Archivers!
> 
> This is my first Teen Wolf fanfic and I'm really nervous about it. There are a lot of great authors writing for this fandom and here I am, a mere peasant, trying to add something to the fandom - I hope you like it!  
> I know there are a lot of loose threads in this story, but there's a reason for that. I plan on continuing this fic, add more chapters to it and make it earn both the title AND the rating. ;) Tags will be added when the need arises.  
> The thing is: Should I even bother continuing it? Is it good enough to write more for Derek and Stiles? And if it isn't, what needs to be changed so it becomes an asset rather than a bother?
> 
> It'd be great if you'd let me know either way! :)
> 
>  
> 
> And now, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When alliterations and song lyrics pretty much rule your life, you must be one Stiles Stilinski.  
> With Manic Mondays and Telltaling Grapevine, Sterek takes over and leaves Jacward in the dust, while the people in your circe of friends ship anybody with everybody. It's exhausting, embarrassing and a little bit exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feedback I got for this story was breathtaking! Thank you guys for all the kudos, the comments and the views - I really didn't expect even half of it! :3  
> Thanks to your enthusiasm for this story, my muse exploded all over the place and what once was expected to be a little something now seems like something more. Plot ideas everywhere, promising way more to come! :)
> 
> And now off you go, chapter 2 is awaiting you!

** Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon **

_Chapter 2_

 

When Stiles woke up one day, it was to the chirping of early morning birds and the spitting sound of the (no longer) new coffee machine he had gotten for his father last Christmas. It sounded like one of those old locomotives from the western movies, but the coffee it brew? _Divine_!

“STILES! YOU UP YET?!” The loving voice of his father screaming up the stairs disturbed Stiles’ not so quiet morning. Might as well get up, despite it being a Sunday and all.

 

“Gimme a sec, I’m up…” The Sheriff probably couldn’t hear him, what with Stiles groaning into his pillow, but he’d realize soon enough that Stiles was as awake as he could be in the mornings. His uncoordinated stumbling through his room might be a dead giveaway, as well as the bang of the closing bathroom door. Stiles wasn’t made for fine motor skills at the best of times, and 7.30 in the mornings was nowhere _near_ a good time!

 

“BEFORE YOU HOP INTO THE SHOWER YOU MIGHT WANT TO REMEMBER THERE’S NOT HOT WATER TODAY!” And his dad really didn’t need to shout when he was standing right on the other side of the door…

 

“There isn’t?” Stiles asked, opening the door and looking at his father with blood shot eyes. “Why don’t we have hot water, dad?”

 

“PLUMBER- oh, sorry, the plumber comes by today to check the piping downstairs. The washing machine loses a lot of water and Hal (Hal being one of dad’s coworkers and apparently in the know when it came to washing machines) says it’s not the machine, it’s the plumbing.

 

“Oh, great. Well, no shower for me then; good I’m not a jogger, then.”

 

“Stop the dramatics, wash your face and come downstairs, grab a bite with your old man before I’m off to work.”

 

“You said you wouldn’t work this weekend!” Stiles hadn’t exactly planned something with his dad, but it was always nice knowing him to be home, where there were only those guns his father had so secretly hidden and Stiles knew all the hiding places.

 

“That was before June had to stay at home for the rest of her pregnancy; sorry, kiddo. Now hurry up, coffee’s getting cold.” With a shooing motion the Sheriff pushed him back into the bathroom and closed the door. It’s the middle of the night (at least to Stiles) on a Sunday (what happened to “on the seventh day thou shalt rest” and all?), there was no hot water to wash away the soreness of his neck muscles and his coffee would be cold when he was done with his morning routine (minus the shower) – great.

 

When he finally entered the kitchen, huddled in his father’s old bathrobe (which still smelled like his cologne; probably because Stiles sprayed it on the fabric every now and again), he found his usual cup full of steaming hot coffee. “Right on time, kiddo!”

 

Stiles smiled at his dad and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, cup grasped in his hands. “What’s new in the world?” he asked, nodding at the newspaper next to his dad.

 

“Nothing much; war, catastrophes, Europe knowing about the spy work. Oh, and there’s a Flower Festival over in Alamo Oaks. There will be a contest, even.”

 

“Contest of what?” Stiles would rather not know, probably.

 

“’Crochet a Casket’ – you could try, you know. Didn’t you learn to crochet in elementary school?”

 

Stiles answered that with a flat look, then flailed his arms. “I can’t get into my car without bumping my head, and you expect me to _crochet_?! Yeah, right.” And that was that, topic done, Flower Festival in Alamo Oaks be damned.

The Stilinski men sat in companionable silence, both sipping their coffee until the Sheriff had to go. “Stay safe! I love you!” Stiles said automatically, catching his father in a hug before he could leave through the back door.

 

“Will be; love you too.”

 

As soon as his father was out the door Stiles was up, too. Maybe he could get Scott and Allison to go to the Festival with him, maybe even win that ‘Crochet a Casket’-thing.

Stiles and Crochet Hook – still a better love story than Twilight!

 

;:;:;:;

 

He couldn’t. Neither get Scott and Allison to accompany him, nor winning the contest. And it had started so promising! But soon his casket had become a cap, and that wasn’t what the jury had wanted to see, obviously. Blinkered small minds, all of them.

At least he had gotten a free, if ugly-ass hat out of it, so there’s that. Now to find a victim to present with that monstrosity…

 

Erica waited for him at the doors to their university’s entrance, and that was a new one. While usually Scott was the one tackling him in the mornings, today it was Erica positively glomping him, once again all in his business like a busty kraken. Giveaway getter spotted.

 

“Hey Erica! See what I made for you!” Before the blonde woman could even notice he had something in his hands Stiles had already slipped the ‘hat’ over her head, the multicolored wool clashing incredibly with her blonde mane and the black leather of her jacket. “Pretty!”

 

The alienated looks Erica got were well worth the glare she shot at Stiles, who stood next to her and positively beamed. “What is that you put on my head?!” Her voice was more like a growl, deep and rumbling, making her teeth seem sharper than they (probably) were.

 

“I tried to make it be a casket, but you know what they say all the time. ‘You can be whatever you want to be’, so my casket wanted to be a hat. Who am I to deny it?”

 

“You know what else they say?”

 

“Ehm, no?”

 

“Run.”

 

Without thinking twice Stiles took off, laughing all the time while he weaseled through the crowds of grumpy students. He passed Scott and Allison on his escape from Erica’s cruel clutches and shot them a wide grin and a wave, but didn’t slow down; Erica was still barreling after him and her Furious Face wasn’t very promising, concerning his health.

 

“STILES!”

 

 

In the end Erica caught up to Stiles and tackled him down onto a bench standing at the wall of one of the corridors. While Stiles was gulping for air and his face burnt from the exertion Erica didn’t even breathe hard, her complexion as perfect as ever.

 

“What are you? A werewolf or something?!” Stiles wheezed, wriggling under her and trying to get free.

 

“Who knows? I do bite, though…” Her grin widened, showing off her white teeth, and she snapped at his face, her jaws shutting with a loud click. Stiles flinched back a little at the sound, but wasn’t too worried anymore. And Erica was still wearing the ‘thing’ he had given her, so maybe she liked it?

The halls around them emptied, so Erica let Stiles get up as well. “Come on, we have places to be!” A practiced move rightened the beanie on her head and they walked towards their respective classes.

“See you later, Stiles,” Erica called after him and vanished into her lecture hall. Stiles grinned after her and found himself looking forward to meeting her again.

 

He wasn’t into girls, but guess what? He didn’t care, Erica was great once you got to know her.

And Stiles didn’t even think about the fact she was his link to her hot boyfriend; really didn’t think about that, honest! Not even in his (graphically very explicit) dreams, ever since he had started jerking off to thoughts of Derek.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Maybe he’d thought a little about that, so when he waited outside of their building for Erica to emerge so he could walk with her to the parking lot that might have had to do with the fact that Derek usually picked her up.

 

“Hey Stiles! Didn’t know you were done with classes at the same time as me,” Erica greeted him when she walked around the corner, already talking before she could have seen him. “Want to walk me to the pick-up point?”

Stiles didn’t even need to answer, Erica had already snaked her arm around his elbow and was leading him away, babbling about how boring her classes were without anyone to talk to and how everyone around her was so ‘determined’. She made it sound like something disgusting you found under your shoes or something.

 

“So Derek is picking you up again?” There may have been a hint of hope in Stiles’ voice, but nobody needed to know that.

 

“What? Oh, no, it’s Isaac’s turn today.” And right she was, Isaac standing next to a run-down pickup and staring at them. “There he is. Hi Isaac! Say hello to Stiles!”

 

“Hello Stiles,” the curly haired boy said obediently, his head cocked to the side and showing off the long line of his throat. Strange guy, that one…

 

“Hi, ehm, Isaac.” Stiles didn’t want to stay here any longer. Not only was he missing out on some Derek ogling time, he was standing next to who Scott deemed his ‘Allison’s Attention Archenemy’. And somehow Stiles’ life was overtaken by alliterations. “Well, I really should get going, Scott’s waiting for me. We’re gonna go a little one-on-one on the lacrosse pitch.”

 

“One-on-one with Scott, hu? What’s Allison thinking about that?” Erica _leered_.

 

“She has a thing for jocks and crooked jaws, maybe even gets off on the protection gear, so she’s enjoying it more than I am, probably.” And why again was he talking about what Allison got off on?

 

“I’m sure I’d get some entertainment out of that as well,” Erica mused, leer still present on her face, and when she turned to Stiles he knew telling her about his plans had been a mistake. “Take me!”

 

Stiles sputtered. Took a deep breath, then sputtered some more. “WHAT?!?”

 

“Take me with you, I want to see you play! Isaac could come with us, he used to play lacrosse in high school too, right?” Isaac made a noncommittal noise that counted as affirmation in Erica’s books, obviously. “It’ll be great! So, shall we?”

 

Stiles wasn’t all that sure about it being great, but couldn’t find a good reason to tell them to fuck off, so he took his phone out to text Scott. His best friend would be _ecstatic_ at the prospect of spending time with Isaac!

 

 

It turned out Scott really _did_ enjoy their game and Stiles no longer understood the world. How had this become his life?

At first Scott used every opportunity to tackle Isaac to the ground whenever he could; if it was actually beneficial for his game didn’t matter, all that mattered was hearing the grunt when first Isaac’s body connected with the muddy grass, then the grunt when Scott’s geared body connected with Isaac.

 

Allison got her fill of Scott’s crooked jaw grin, Erica cooed over sweaty men in lacrosse gear and Stiles manned the goal, waiting for the two boys to get over with their cockfight, so he could actually ace in keeping them from scoring a goal. Well, he thought ‘ace’ and meant ‘flail around and hope for the best’, but he still waited for the first time to even touch the ball, so either definition worked so far.

Not a single ball got past him that day, Danny would be so proud. Or not.

 

“Derek’s coming,” Erica yelled one hour into the lacrosse turned wrestling match, even though there wasn’t even a trace of leather wearing Hottie Hale anywhere; Stiles knew, he’d checked.

Not even half a minute later Derek’s black car pulled up on the curb next to the playing field, though, and Derek got out, his eyes immediately zeroing in on where Stiles sat with Allison and Erica. His goalkeeping skills were obviously unnecessary, so he’d opted to give the girls a running comment on the WWE match happening in front of them.

Derek’s eyes on him made him feel like he was trespassing on his territory, though, so he made a show of scooting over, now sitting closer to Allison rather than Erica. Actually, he was pretty much sitting in the Argent girl’s lap, but he really didn’t want to give Derek any ideas that could lead to maiming in the future.

 

“Talia wants to know when you’re planning to get home,” he said, apropos of nothing.

 

“What, not even a hello?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from asking.

 

“Hello Stiles, Talia wants to know when you’re planning to get home.” Derek deadpanned.

 

“Tell your mother she can tell my father I’m heading there soon.” Stiles could be an asshole when he wanted to, and now he felt like he could away with it. He had Scott, the asthmatic boy wonder with the crooked jaw, and Allison, drop-dead gorgeous and just deadly with a cross-bow, on his side; he felt sure.

 

When Derek didn’t react to his taunt at all, Stiles felt like his efforts had gone to waste, but was willing to let it go for the moment. Instead he got his desperately needed Derek ogling time in, hiding his secret glances behind a curtain of Allison’s hair.

 

Obviously, Derek’s default was ‘hot’, no matter the time of day or the environment around him. Like, right now, in the late afternoon, standing at the bleachers of the high school’s lacrosse pitch. The wind blew through his black hair, playing with some stray strands, making the immaculate hair-do look like something Stiles wanted to get his hands in, feel if there was product involved or just unfair genetics.

And Derek once again rocked the bad boy look; painted on jeans stretched tight over muscled thighs, the omnipresent leather jacket (probably dress code in the Hale House or something), zipper halfway done and showing off the tantalizing stretch of a henley over a broad chest, as well as the line of his neck. Unfair!

Well, at least Stiles could pretend to go for the jock look today, what with his lacrosse gear and everything. Was Derek into that kind of thing? Jockstraps, sweaty jerseys and everything?

 

“Aw, come on, Boo Bear, don’t be like that!” Erica threw herself at Derek (like, literally! She jumped up and into Derek’s arms like something very jumpy! And Derek caught her out of the air, securing her in his arms – hellooooo, flexing muscles!) and nuzzled his neck like it went out of style. (So obviously ‘nerdy jock’ wasn’t Derek’s type, ‘Blonde Bombshell’ was.) “We’re having fun; you should join us!”

 

“And watch Isaac lose to a guy with asthma?”

 

“Not losing,” Isaac called, obviously lying. Scott had pinned him down on the ground, his knees digging into Isaac’s shoulder blades.

 

“Hey, he has the right incentive, okay?” Stiles was quick to defend his best friend, pride in his voice and Allison smiled thankfully at him. “And he has the upper hand, so you can take a long walk of a short pier or something.” Bros before hoes and all that, even though this particular hoe was male (very much so!) and very, very hot. Scott better appreciate what Stiles had done!

 

“I just said he was winning, so what’s your problem?” Derek was now sitting a few feet away from him, having rounded them with Erica in his arms, and was obviously done with Stiles. Erica however, wriggling happily in Derek’s lap, wasn’t done with him yet.

 

“We really should do this more often, Stiles. Hang out together, everyone around, watching the guys go at it. I can totally see the appeal to it, Allison!”

 

Allison grinned in response. “Right? I mean, it’s usually just Scott and Stiles going at it, but I can appreciate the change of scene.”

 

“Hey, I’m sitting right here!” Stiles wriggled away from Allison, no longer caring about Derek’s jealousy whenever he was around Erica. He had his masculinity to maintain in front of the girls! “I’ll have you know I look devastatingly hot when I’m rolling in the dirt with Scott! RIGHT, SCOTTY?” The last part was yelled at where Scott was still busy wrestling with Isaac, but the worst energy had gone out of the fight.

 

“OF COURSE YOU ARE, BRO!” That’s the great thing about Scott – he’d almost always agree to everything Stiles said. That had managed to get them into trouble more often than once, but at least 30% of the time they’d gotten some great amusement out of Stiles’ suggestions in the past.

 

“I’m sure you do,” Erica acknowledged and showed one of her well-known leers. She was sitting in her boyfriend’s lap and leered at Stiles, obviously hitting on him, and what did said boyfriend do? He _nodded along_ , like what she said was right or something.

Only because he used to be nothing more than a benchwarmer in high school didn’t mean he wouldn’t look great all sweating and swearing in a pile of guys rolling around in the mud, okay?!

With a battle cry Stiles got up and ran towards where Scott and Isaac impersonated just the pile of muddy guys he needed to prove his masculinity to the world. Stiles was up in the air and flying towards Isaac’s back just as said back moved away and got up from the ground.

 

The impact on the ground pressed every last ounce of air out of Stiles’ lungs and had him sprawled on the ground, black spots obscuring his sight. So much for proving his masculinity… When the laughter of his (former) friends and his acquaintances reached his ears Stiles groaned in embarrassment, making a valid effort to disappear into the soggy grass beneath him.

Insult, meet injury.

 

“You okay?” Derek asked, suddenly appearing next to where Stiles was squirming on the ground and his voice sounded sincerely worried. What?

 

“Peachy.” He’d long decided he wouldn’t get up before everyone had left, so he could lick his wounds in peace, but Derek seemed to have other plans.

 

“Can you get up? You don’t want to get pneumonia from lying on the ground too long.”

 

He didn’t want to get pneumonia – that stuff sucked balls! – but he didn’t want to die of embarrassment as well, because that sucked even more when you were a 19 year old virgin with a crush on a straight guy with a girlfriend who both were so good looking it was ridiculous.

“Maybe the pneumonia thing isn’t a bad idea.”

 

Derek wouldn’t have any of that. Two strong hands cupped around Stiles’ upper arms and picked him up from the ground (there really was no other way to describe what Derek did with him) like he weighed nothing. “It is a bad idea. Sickness always is, and now go home and get a shower.”

 

“’m not sweaty,” Stiles mumbled, completely the pouting child he felt he was.

 

“No, but you’re dirty.”

 

“I LIKE THEM DIRTY,” Erica felt the need to call over, not helping Stiles’ case at all. He let his shoulders slump and followed Derek from the field, bypassing Scott and the others on his way to the Jeep and without another word he was gone.

Being all spazzy sucked. But it had gotten Derek’s (warm and strong) hands on him, so it hadn’t been all for naught, at least.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Weeks passed by, and both Erica and (surprisingly) Isaac became a fixture in Stiles’ life. They hung out together at the mall, all five of them (Stiles, Scott, Allison, Erica and Isaac), hit the arcades or met up for a movie night at the Stilinski household every now and then and generally had a good time together.

 

Derek would show up at one point without fail, adding a few minutes of awkward to their get-togethers (what with Erica hitting on Stiles, Stiles crushing on Derek and Derek being his hot, stoic self) but after that first rush of “Oh my god, what do I do?!?” passed through Stiles’ system the Hale peeps relaxed again and Scott and Allison didn’t even notice the tension in Stiles’ muscles, they were so in love.

 

But something changed over the course of the last weeks. Derek’s looks whenever Erica pestered Stiles got darker and darker, im- and expressive eyebrows stating his disapproval quite obvious and a dangerous glint filled his eyes more often than once, making them look almost a steely blue.

It was very unsettling and Stiles would rather pass on the rush of adrenaline, at least when fear for his life was the reason for said rush.

 

One night he decided to approach Erica about it when they met up at a diner in town, waiting for the rest to arrive. “Hey, Erica, would you mind NOT groping me tonight?” Stiles was nothing, if not blunt.

 

“And why would I do that?” Sometimes Stiles considered calling her ‘Leerica’, and the leer she sported right now showed exactly why he would consider that.

 

“Because your boyfriend is due in half an hour,” (Derek was predictable like that) “and I’d like me a night without threatening brows and bloodthirsty looks, you know?”

 

“Boyfriend?” She had the guts to laugh at him, like his assumption was far-fetched or something. Hadn’t she seen the Murderous Mien?

 

“Derek? Tall, dark, broody – boyfriend?” Stiles was a little proud of not having added ‘dangerously hot, dreams of my sleepless nights, cause of a many washed sheets’ to that.

 

“Oh honey, Derek isn’t my boyfriend! He’s like a brother to me. That’d be really weird; how would you even get that idea?”

 

And now it was Stiles’ turn to laugh. “How wouldn’t I? He looks at me like he wants to rip me apart whenever he’s here! His brows are judging my every move!”

 

“Oh, yeah, they do that…” Erica admitted, but didn’t seem too bothered by it.

 

“See? Why would his brows feel the need to judge me if not for, I don’t know, trespass on his territory or something?”

 

“Everyone of us is very territorial, Stiles. Comes with being like us, really, so you shouldn’t pay that too much attention.” Women were so confusing at times! ‘Being like us’ – what did that even mean?

 

He let it go for now, though, in favor of saying: “Well, I could do without the maiming, thank you very much. Have I told you my father is the sheriff and owns guns?” That didn’t seem to faze her too much, either. “And being the sheriff’s son means I know my way around guns, too!” That was a technically a lie. While he in fact _did_ know his way around guns, knowing how to walk around them was more like it, not using them.

 

“Not so sure about that, are you?” Erica laughed, again, and Stiles felt like some sort of comic relief, maybe a sidekick to her Awesome or something, and it wasn’t all that great a feeling. “Naw, come on, Stiles. Don’t look like that! Derek and I aren’t together, so there’s no need to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf!”

 

“Seems like he _wants_ to be, though, and I’m not planning on crossing blades with someone whose biceps have the same circumference as my head does!”

Erica didn’t pay any attention to what Stiles said; instead she jumped him and crowded him in the booth, one of her legs thrown over his thighs and pressing her cleavage into his face. Stiles sputtered and batted at her, desperate for air and for Derek to be late only once in his life.

 

“Erica!” No such luck.

 

“Derek, hey. Glad you made it!” The girl suffocating Stiles with her breasts didn’t make a move to set him free anytime soon and Stiles was pretty sure he was turning blue already. And then she was gone, just like that, and air filled his lungs – glorious, greasy air.

Next to the table Derek had Erica in a tight grip and pushed her down on the bench across from Stiles, with the table securely between them. Then he took the spot Erica had just unwillingly vacated and secured Stiles open left side from Erica shaped projectiles.

 

“Sit tight, keep your hands and feet to yourself and we’ll forget about how you made Stiles very, very uncomfortable,” Derek grumbled, his whole ribcage vibrating with the low growl. It made Stiles shiver in all the best ways.

 

“He wasn’t _that_ uncomfortable,” Erica sulked, but Stiles really had been. He liked Erica just fine, even now after almost having been choked to death by her supple bosom, but he did not like being choked, period.

Okay, maybe by a certain appendage belonging to one Derek Hale, being driven in and out of Stiles’ mouth so that he could gasp for air every now and again before… Full stop to that thought, right now!

 

Stiles’ thoughts must have been pretty obvious, because both Erica and Derek had stopped arguing and where watching him with strange looks on their faces; while Erica was barely suppressing laughter,  Derek looked surprised and a little intrigued as he closed the distance between him and Stiles. His nares looked pretty huge from up close. And was he _sniffing_ him?

Stiles wanted to die. And stop thinking about how much better a werewolf Derek would be than that Lautner person. Anyway, not the moment to think about nakedness and Derek and smut in fics and in reality and-

 

“Told you, not uncomfortable,” Erica preened, her nostrils just as big as Derek’s, and Stiles was endlessly grateful when Isaac’s appearance broke that strange moment, even though he did it with a choked gasp and the words “I won’t be able to eat _anything_ here!”. The way his nose scrunched up with the words was almost comical.

 

Stiles mourned the lack of the best curly fries on earth that evening, but was indeed grateful for getting out of the diner and into the solitude of his (t)rusty Jeep once they made their way to another food joint to get take out.

The Hale house, their next stop, came with the enormous dining table AND twelve single chairs – room enough for everyone not to be in each other’s personal bubble. And even though Stiles’ attempt to find refuge sitting between Allison and Scott was thwarted by the fact they were joined at the hip, having Derek once again securing his unguarded side was a calming thought.

 

Everyone kept to themselves (except Scott and Allison, but that was a given) and feeling Derek’s warmth seeping into him where their shoulders almost met, sitting next to each other(Derek was a _tank_!) even made up for not getting curly fries.

 

;:;:;:;

 

‘ _Six a clock already I, was just in the middle of a dream; I was kissin’ Derek by a crystal blue Italian stream_ ~’ Stiles hummed; his mood was positively _chipper_ , considering it was ‘ _just another manic Monday_ ~’.

Anyway, Stiles was in a good mood, the coffee this morning exceptionally good and his father had come home in a mood just as good as his, even though he had just worked a night shift at the station, but it had been quiet, nothing happening whatsoever, and that was as good a day as they came, in Stiles’ books.

 

“Who are you?” his father asked incredulously, eyeing his son with obvious suspicion. “Did you have sex last night?”

 

“What’s wrong with you?!? How would I’ve had sex last night?! And why would I tell you even if that were the case?!?” Stiles’ face wasn’t so much suspicious, it was beet red, probably sweaty like something very, very sweaty (maybe Derek after a two hour hardcore workout?) and thoroughly shocked.

 

“It’s… You sang The Bangles!” Like that was any explanation, and Stiles said just that, still working on getting his heart beat again. “Well, your mother used to sing The Bangles…” Now the Sheriff’s head was just as red as his son’s. “Never mind. So, did you have sex?”

 

“I’m not talking to you anymore, dad.” If mortification had a face, it would look just like Stiles’ did. “And if I were, I’d totally like to know what makes you think that, other than me having an earworm.”

 

“Beacon Hills is a small town, Stiles.” ‘You don’t say’, Stiles muttered. “And everyone around here knows you. You’re my son, I’m the Sheriff, that’s just how it works.”

 

“How what works?”

 

‘ _I heard it through the grapevine_ ~’ Great, more singing. Stilinskis were real jukeboxes, apparently.

 

“And what, oh dear father mine, did the grapevine tell you to make you think I could have something resembling an active sex life with someone else than myself as a company?” The bitter tone alone should be enough to convince everyone of his pitiful, virginal state.

 

“That you’re making out with a blonde girl wherever you two are seen together. Mind introducing me some time? I know you’re not a daughter, but you’re all I have and I won’t miss the opportunity to make sure my only son’s heart won’t be broken by a tender little thing.”

 

“Don’t let Erica hear you call her tender,” Stiles said without thinking and regretted it immediately.

 

“Ha! So there IS someone! Do I need to have The Talk with you again?”

 

“Dad, no! Nonononononono! No! Don’t you dare! I’ve had nightmares! _Nightmares_! For years! I still wake up at night, crying and drenched in sweat, clutching my junk and crying for someone to take the blains away. I will not- you hear me? NOT! look at these pamphlets with you ever again, and I’m still mad at Melissa for having given them to you!”

 

“Do you remember that one about teenage pregnancy? I’m sure a little refresher course on that one might be in order, no?”

 

Why did his father have to be the Sheriff and have the memory of an elephant? Why couldn’t he be something… less brain-related? “No, dad, it really isn’t. Erica and me, that’s not a thing, okay?”

 

‘ _Grapevineeeee_ ~’ the Sheriff intoned seriously.

 

“What? She’s been hitting on me, then tried to smother me with her breasts until Derek saved my life – nothing to make a fuss of! There won’t be any pregnancy in the Stilinski household, I promise!” And it was true! Being gay pretty much meant a severe lack in pregnancy tests involved. “Unless you decide to knock someone up on your old days,” he added as an afterthought.

 

The look that gained him was pretty unimpressed and only a little bit constipated. “What are you saying, kiddo?”

 

“Oh, nothing! Only noticed your red lacy bra is bleeding color all over the whites, you know?”

With The Talk successfully averted, Stiles skipped out of the house and into his Jeep, and when he turned the radio on and The Bangles played, he couldn’t help but laugh all the way to university.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Stiles parked his Jeep next to Isaac’s pickup – both cars had seen their best days, and it had been a while since then – and got out, already waving to his friends. They had taken to meet up before classes, getting a quick coffee in and catching up on all the exciting things that could happen between one day and the other.

 

“-totally checked him out, I tell you!” Isaac just finished in a conspiratorial whisper to Scott and Allison.

 

“Did not!” Erica harrumphed, going so far as to cross her arms in front of her chest.

 

“Did too,” Isaac laughed, digging his fingers into Erica’s sides until she cracked up.

 

“Okay, maybe I did. But you have to admit – Boyd’s hot!”

 

“Boyd? The ice guy?” Stiles might not have known what exactly they were talking about, but Erica ogling other guys was a good thing, and the name Boyd rang some bells, so that might work in his favors as well.

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Erica answered, but her voice betrayed her interest.

 

“Big, broad, dark skin, calm personality? Boyd? Ice cream wagon on campus?” Stiles couldn’t be more specific, because that was pretty much all he (legally) knew about the Sexy Sundae Seller. Other than that he knew Boyd’s first name was Vernon, he’d taken care of the skating rink at their old high school and had been class president all of his years.

Yes, Stiles had read the guy’s file after first seeing those muscle mountains, but he was over it. It had been a phase, okay? Jeez!

 

“Sounds like the right one.” Isaac still had to get rid of the grin tinting his voice. Erica punching him in the shoulder did the trick.

 

“What else do you know, Stiles?” she asked pressingly. “I need to know!”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles lied easily, walking past her towards the doors.

 

“You shouldn’t lie to me, little man.” And didn’t _that_ voice sound guttural. It sounded like deep winters, dark caves and groups of cavemen huddling around a fire, listening for just that sound so the fight or flight reflex would kick in.

 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about?” And now was so not the time for his voice to break.

 

“Stiles, my deer.” Yes, Stiles could hear the second ‘e’. “Have a walk with me, yes? There’s things we should talk about; information to be shared, throats not being shredded. The usual, really.”

 

Stiles gulped, could feel his throat work around the lump clogging it, and nodded. “Meet you for lunch?”

 

“That’s my boy!” The danger was yet to be averted, and Stiles had the feeling it would need a lot more than just telling Erica where the ice wagon Boyd usually manned stood.

When he finally entered his lecture hall, he was once again humming The Bangles’ ‘Manic Monday’, but it lost all the appeal to it, sounding more like a funeral march than the uplifting swan song on a particular weekday.

 

;:;:;:;

 

“Hey Boyd!” For someone who was as capricious with who they hit on as Scott and Allison were with each other, Erica sure knew how to get her old crush to spy on her new one, simply by making guttural threats at them.

 

“Hello.” That was something you didn’t find in Boyd’s file: His penchant for short answers. Short, straight, to the point. And a little socially challenged.

 

“Well, how are you on this fine day?”

 

“Busy. You want something?”

 

“Well, funny that you ask, really. I was just wondering if you’re free next Friday?” Stiles felt as awkward as Boyd looked.

 

“I’m not going out with you.”

 

‘Neither you, nor anyone else, really’ was what Stiles _wanted_ to say. What he _did_ say was: “Good, because I’m not asking for me. I’m hooking you up with a friend of mine. A girl friend, not a guy friend!” he was quick to add at Boyd’s confused look. “Please?”

 

“Whatever.” He didn’t fool anyone – even though Boyd was pretty reclusive, it wasn’t exactly by choice. Most people were afraid of his physique, let themselves be scared off by mountains of muscles and didn’t see the kind eyes or the calm demeanor.

 

“Great! Thanks, Boyd; now I feel like a chocolate Sundae to celebrate!” He had reason to celebrate – Stiles could return to Erica, bearing good news, and that was always a plus.

 

 

Only, Erica wasn’t exactly surprised when Stiles sauntered around the corner to where she waited for him to tell her about how it went.

 

“I know, I know. Now don’t keep me from choosing an outfit!” For Friday. On a Tuesday. Whatever – girls. Stiles was smart enough not to say that out loud. “Now take me home, time’s a waistin!”

 

“Home being…”

 

“The Hale House, I told you the very first time we went there!”

 

“Yeah, right. Still weird that you’re not a Hale, not even an Honorary Hale, yet you live there with them.” Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around that fact. And now imagine his confusion when he had learned Isaac lived there as well!

 

“Envious?” Erica cackled.

 

“Why would I be? Because you live in a giant house with more bedrooms than my house has rooms, period? Nah, dad and I are fine. Wouldn’t be able to find the bathroom when it really mattered or something, so a little smaller is just what the Stilinski men need.” And he meant it, even though the Hale House (or manor? It really WAS a big ass house) was an impressive and beautiful building, as far as architectural beauty went.

 

“It’s not always about the house, Stiles. Sometimes it is about who lives IN the house.” Way to be cryptic, girl…

Stiles dropped Erica off at her home and was about to head home himself when someone tapped against his windshield. That someone being Derek. Sweaty, shirtless Derek, standing in the driveway of his house like it was nobody’s business. Well, it probably wasn’t but it almost cost Stiles’ life – he hadn’t been prepared for the rush of blood leaving his brain and gathering somewhere more reproductive.

 

“Derek,” Stiles panted, heart beating in his throat.

 

“You’re on your way home already? You can come in, you know? Isaac’s home as well.”

 

It was the first time Derek was inviting him into his home, so it would be rude to decline the offer, right? Following the very shirtless (and very sexy) man into the house was the polite thing to do, and while his father had taken care of making him a honest and law-abiding citizen (with at least some success), his mother had made him a polite conversationalist.

None of his parents were responsible for the direction his train of thought went while he followed the tantalizing swing of Derek’s hips, highlighted by the low riding jeans and the small strip of boxer briefs said low riding revealed.

 

Before Derek opened the door to the house he turned around to Stiles. Lifting his arms and wiping his temples against his bulging biceps (and spreading a numbing mix of smells – fresh air, the woods, clean sweat, a hint of cologne and probably a truckload of pheromones, all designed specifically to render Stiles useless) he began to talk.

Then, no longer wiping his temples, but still emanating neurotoxins (well, sort of), he repeated his words. Stiles tried to listen, he really did, but Derek just _smelled so good_ , not to talk of his looks.

 

“Stiles! Isaac’s room is upstairs, third door to the left; you gonna find it?”

 

All Stiles could do was nod, he didn’t trust his voice to cooperate; or his mouth not to embarrass him, really.

 

“Okay, I’m going to take a shower. See you later!”

 

Well, that sure was strange. First Derek invited him in, then he decided he wouldn’t entertain his guest and instead pushed him off to his… housemate, or something? Weird. Stiles would rather take a shower with Derek.

 

When Derek guffawed aloud, Stiles was pretty sure he’d said that last thing out loud and was about to turn around, get into his Jeep and drive it of a bridge, but Derek stopped him. “Not worth it, I’ll be done in a minute,” Derek continued laughing before he towed Stiles through the front door. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

 

 

It took Derek longer than a second – many, many seconds longer, to be honest, and the thoughts of what might have taken him so long made Stiles jeans feel like a prison, prompting him to shift every few seconds.

Isaac, sitting with him in his room and playing something on his X-Box, looked just as uncomfortable as Stiles was and he was breathing like he had the snuffles, mouth open and strictly breathing through it.

 

When Derek finally opened the door, it took another second before he entered the room. Isaac had already jumped to his feet, dragging Stiles with him, and poked him towards Derek.

“Take him, he missed you,” Isaac said almost desperately, tapping his nose like it was some kind of code.

 

Derek only grinned and grabbed Stiles arm. “Thanks for taking care of him, Isaac.”

 

“Yeah, right, now take him out. Of the house. Where there is soooo much air around.”

 

Stiles watched the whole exchange with a bewildered look to his face. “Do I stink? I could go home and shower, you know?”

 

Both Hales (well, one Hale and one Lahey, but that was mere semantics) looked at him, seemingly amused. And while Isaac nodded enthusiastically, Derek shook his head. “It’s okay, Stiles, you’re not stinking.”

 

“You _reek_!” Isaac huffed under his breath, but was silenced by a punch delivered on his shoulder. “OW!”

 

“Lie down, heal and think about what you said to our guest,” Derek chastised before he ushered Stiles out of the room. “Never mind him, Isaac’s a little oversensitive sometimes. You smell perfect.”

 

And wasn’t _that_ what every man wanted to hear from another man, hu?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading this; I'm one happy camper over here! ;)
> 
> Your still very much welcome to let me know what was good and what needs to be better next time; I'm open to suggestions and thankful for highlighted typos and the likes - pretty much all my works are unbetaed, so the mistakes are mine and mine to remove. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles looked good. Derek had said so. And Stiles smelled good. Derek had said so, too. Now Stiles felt good, and he hoped Derek would notice that, as well.  
> Until then, cell phones were great distractions and double dates just as awkward as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three, and I never expected to write this much.  
> I'm glad I can, though! :) Thanks for all of you showing your support by commenting, by reading it, by kudos and messages - I love all of them and I hope to answer all comments and messages as soon as possible.
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than the first two, but life's been crazy around here - with Christmas coming up, my birthday being this month as well, uni and work. Crazy, I tell you!  
> Anyway, have fun with Beacon Hills' best!

** Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon **

_Chapter 3_

 

It had been four weeks since the group assignment at uni had brought Erica (and subsequently the Hales and Honorary Hales) into Stiles’ life. One week had passed since Derek had complimented Stiles’ _scent_ – and, to be honest, Stiles was still a little bewildered about that one. One week had passed since he’d last talked to anyone Hale related, as well. It was his way of coping with the fact he ‘ _reeked_ ’, according to Isaac while he ‘ _smelled perfect_ ’, according to Derek.

Stiles preferred Derek’s nose, for unknown reasons.

 

Derek, who had told him he looked good. Okay, he had said something to Erica, but that comment had contained the words “he looks good”; and now he even smelled good. Stiles on his part thought he felt pretty good, as well. Like, it was nice to touch his skin. Really! Skin pretty smooth, dotted with moles, always well tempered, a constant 100°F (he ran pretty hot – _hot_ , got it? Hilarious!) and he showered regularly.

Which helped with his taste as well, or so Stiles hoped. A quick flick with the tongue over his wrist didn’t reveal all that much to him, but since Derek was the multi-sensual person Stiles tried to satisfy, it wasn’t really him who counted, right? After all, Stiles hadn’t been aware he had a particular _smell_ in the first place.

 

Anyway, Stiles had steered clear of every Hale-related person in his circle of friends and might have jumped into a hedge one time to dodge Isaac on his way to wherever.

Scott had watched him somewhat concerned, Allison had looked slightly amused, Stiles had been nowhere to be seen (it had been a pretty thick hedge) and Isaac had been none the wiser, if not looking like he was about to laugh out loud. Who knew what had been going on in that curly head of his.

 

Erica was pretty easy to not run into; or more like, the opposite. She spent all of her time stalking a certain dark skinned ice seller, always prowling around Boyd like a predator closing in on its prey so all Stiles had to do to avoid her was avoid Boyd as well and he could work with that.

At least until he either 1: worked out what to make of Derek’s senses and how they reacted to Stiles (preferably in a G-rated fashion, but that might take a lot of time), or 2: got over his crush on probably straight Derek. Who was sooo out of Stiles’ league anyway, it wasn’t even funny.

 

 

“Stiles!” Stiles was used to his friends trying to talk to him while he was busy, so he pretty much tuned their voices out, had just enough brain capacity to get the words, but scarcely who said them.

 

That’s why he kept moving through the halls, head down (and most definitely NOT hiding behind a book, really) while he answered. “What?! No, I don’t have time for you! I need to get to the auditorium before Erica’s class finished, she had time to go stalk Boyd and THEN come to the auditorium as well!” And it all worked out so great! It took Erica almost three minutes (two and a half on a good day) to get from point A (seminar room 5, second floor) to point B (Boyd’s ice cream wagon), seven minutes of stalking and another three to three and a half minute to get to point C, being the auditorium.

 

“You stalked me?” New voice. No friend voice, and yet somewhat familiar. Not the first voice, either.

 

“Boyd??” Now Stiles looked up from the book he had honestly been reading and NOT been hiding behind (really!!!), and there he stood: Boyd, in all his muscle-y glory. Next to Erica, who looked smug. Damned.

 

“Yes, Boo Bear, guilty as charged. But can you blame me?” Dark skinned people didn’t blush, or you couldn’t see it, or it was a Boyd thing, but more than anything else it was unfair. Because Stiles did blush, often even. “Anyway, Stiles. What is it with you knowing where I go and when? I thought I made you uncomfortable!”

The young woman took two easy steps from Boyd’s side towards Stiles, somehow managing to crowd him in, even in the enormous entrance hall they stood in. How did she do that?

 

“Ehm, you’re making me kinda uncomfortable right now?” Stiles tried.

 

“You’re not uncomfortable because of me, Stiles. You’re just embarrassed you got caught.”

 

And she had a point; Stiles had to make sure she wouldn’t notice. “So, you caught you a Boyd, hu?”

If the way Boyd averted his eyes while Erica seemed to straighten up with pride was anything to go by, she had.

 

“I’m about to,” she answered with a sly smile in her face. “But before I do that I will be accompanied to our next class by two gentlemen.” Stiles took a confused look around, searching the hall for whoever Erica’s second bodyguard might be (Boydguard stood at heel already). “You, idiot!”

 

The walk was as close to a walk of shame as Stiles ever got, with Erica asking him repeatedly why he had avoided his friends (“We miss you, Stiles! Your flailing is very entertaining.”) and calling him out on every bullshit story he could come up with (“You’re NOT allergic to leather jackets.”). Boyd wasn’t of any help, either, what with his dopey grin whenever he watched Erica grill Stiles; read: all the time.

 

“Okay, okay, I capitulate. What do you reckon I do for compensation?” Stiles had enough; he felt bad enough as it was, he didn’t need Erica for that.

 

“Funny you’d say that,” the blonde said, as unsurprised as ever. She knew about the effect she had on people in general and on Stiles in particular. “It’s easy, really. Date night!”

 

How was that supposed to be easy, Stiles wondered and said so when they sat down in the lecture hall, now minus Boyd. Then it hit him. “You’re not out for some _ménage à trois_ thing, are you? Because I’m not sure Boyd would be very happy about-“

Stiles was somewhat opposed to that, as well, but probably from different reasons than Boyd would be. Like, Erica liked cock (probably), Stiles liked cock (definitely) but didn’t like boobs, Boyd liked boobs (probably) and probably did not like cock. Only, Stiles HAD a cock, so that put him out of the Borica love boat, right?

 

“What?! No! Although…” Welcome back, Leerica, long time no see. “But no, that wasn’t what I meant. And you better stop putting pictures in my head. What I meant was, Boyd and I are going on a date and I think he’d be more comfortable with someone else around; someone he knows, you see? And since you are the only person I know that _he_ knows, it’d be perfect.”

 

“Perfect,” Stiles deadpanned. “Me, third wheeling your date. That sounds so exciting, really.”

 

“I didn’t say you’d be third wheeling, did I? Since you’ll be Boyd’s fugleman, I’ll bring my own.”

 

“You make it sound so much better already. Well, as long as Isaac can keep his nose out of my business I’m game.” Erica squealed, then hugged him and squealed again – right in his ear – and was just about to say something when the professor came through the door and asked for silence in his no-bullshit voice. Not a single word was said in that class.

 

Except for Lauren’s stage whispered “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Stilinski!” – well, tough luck, he hadn’t. And he hadn’t known Lauren shared this class with him, too. Hu?

 

;:;:;:;

 

Stiles was done primping for the night when his phone rang. He didn’t even need to see the flashing “Scotty Mc calls” on his screen to know his best friend was indeed calling, Baha Men’s “Who let the dogs out” screaming through the dampness of the bathroom was enough.

Fiddling with the phone for a bit Stiles finally managed to accept the call, and it only took him three refrains, two bumped elbows and three stubbed toes to do so.

 

“Hey Scotty, whassup?”

 

“What do you know about double dates?” Scott’s voice carried a _hint_ of insecurity, in flashing neon script.

 

“There are usually four people involved, more often than not consisting of two couples going out together for something fun and/or embarrassing.”

 

“Bowling.”

 

“Okay, so you go with the embarrassing theme then, that’s okay. Still doesn’t explain why you’re calling me all panic-y and interrogating me on double dates, Scott – I’m the one double dating tonight, after all, and while we’re at it: What do you think will do the trick with Isaac – graphic Tee or band shirt?”

 

“Doesn’t matter, Isaac’s out with me and I’m wearing that blue button down shirt Allison likes. And Allison and whoever it is Isaac brings, don’t know that chick. I’m freaking out, Stiles!”

 

Thanks to Scott, Stiles was freaking out by now, too. “What do you mean, you’re on a date with Isaac?”

 

“And Allison! And Isaac’s chick, don’t make it sound like I’m dating a dude! No offense.”

 

“None taken. But. But.. But! I thought Erica brought Isaac as a second so he could shoot Boyd should the need arise! Who am I going out with tonight, Scott?!”

 

If nothing else, at least that tidbit of information helped calm down Scott considerably and he didn’t sound like he’d need his inhaler every second now. Stiles would kill for a shot, though.

“I don’t know, bro. Who do you think she could bring?”

 

The thing was, Stiles had absolutely no idea. “I have absolutely no idea!”

 

Scott, demon that he was, chuckled at that, thanked Stiles for helping him forget about his own problems and wished him a great date before he hung up. Leaving Stiles, confused, slightly panicked and still undecided on which shirt to wear.

 

;:;:;:;

 

When Stiles reached the movie theater Boyd was already there. The dark skinned man looked calm and collected, almost frighteningly so, because Stiles was anything but. The smile Boyd greeted him with did the trick, though, and Stiles took a deep breath and let go of it in a controlled manner. If Boyd could do this, Stiles could.

Only, he really couldn’t.

Boyd knew who he’d chosen to wear the flattering simple shirt for (with muscles like that, you didn’t need fancy button-downs or the likes; Boyd could’ve come in his birthday suite and people would be staring at him); Stiles was severely under-informed and he didn’t like that.

 

The Black Badass Beast rounded the corner of the cinema only a few moments later, pulled up to the curb and Erica got out, looking dashing. Not that she ever didn’t, but the smile she showed when her eyes fell on Boyd made her beautiful in a totally different way.

Stiles allowed himself to take that in for a second, until his attention was drawn in by the person getting out of the driver’s side of the car. Right, Erica hadn’t come alone.

That. That was Erica’s fugleman (fuglewoman?) tonight?! And therefore Stiles Stilinski’s date tonight? Fuck his life.

 

“Hey boys!” Erica greeted them, winking at Stiles and then stepping up to Boyd to press a kiss against his cheek. “Looking good, handsome.” And that was pretty much the last thing Stiles heard from the love-birds, because his date strode purposefully in his direction.

 

“Stiles! Fancy meeting you here!”

 

“Yeah, right?” Stiles fancied himself far, far away right now. “How’ve you been, Laura?”

Good, apparently. Everything was good for Laura; oh, and the other Hales too, thanks for asking! Didn’t know he was interested, she could’ve called him or something, maybe even come around for a cup of coffee and why hadn’t he been over at their house lately, anyway, everyone was missing him. “Your flailing is very entertaining.”

Not to be a spoilsport, and Stiles hoped all the good things for Erica and Boyd, but he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge, and the evening hadn’t even really begun, yet.

 

“So, what are we watching?” he asked in a desperate attempt to involve the happy couple into Laura’s conversation. It was hers and hers alone, Stiles hadn’t gotten a single word in.

 

“I don’t know what you’ll be watching, but we’re planning on not seeing a single scene of the movie,” Boyd mumbled against Erica’s mouth and that was pretty disturbing. Who put out on the first date like that? Boyd and Erica, obviously. On the other hand, it wasn’t like Stiles knew what was and what wasn’t proper date etiquette, so…

 

“So, Stiles, what do you fancy? Since it’s just you and me now.” Laura was scary, like, really. As was the way she asked the question. AND the way she crept up to him, like personal space was something that usually happened to other people and not those of the Hale kind. Also, she had that Hale nose wrinkling thing down like a pro. The sniffing him, too.

 

“Thor, maybe?” Stiles really didn’t know what to say; he felt like he was back in high school, dissecting a frog. Only this time he was the frog and Laura was cutting into him with her scalpel sharp eyes.

 

“Natalie Portman, hu?” That’s what Laura _said_ , but from the sound of it that wasn’t what she _meant_.

 

“I- uhm, I like superheroes? Action, fighting, fantasy, myths and all that?” Something about the Hale family obviously made Stiles forget how to end sentences with a full stop rather than making everything a question.

 

“Comic fan, interesting. Black Widow your favorite hero?”

 

“She isn’t in that movie, is she?” Full stops, Stiles; they are friends, not food, really. “I’m more a Batman guy, anyway.” Wow, period at the end of a sentence – he still had it in him!

 

“Batman? I can see why – those shoulders are to die for, aren’t they? And his jaw line!” But while Laura was mooning over (probably Christian Bale’s impersonation of) Batman, Stiles couldn’t help but imagining Derek’s shoulders, his jaw line, those _abs_ – with Laura Hale right there it wasn’t all that surprising he’d think of another Hale, what with the family resemblance, cheek bones, dark hair, scarily expressive eyebrows (even though Laura’s were perfectly plucked). After a quick inhale through her nose, the present Hale sibling grinned at Stiles in a disturbingly knowing way. “Bat _man_ , hu?”

And obviously not only was the sniffing thing and the total disrespect of personal space a Hale thing, the talking in italics was, as well. That family never ceased to amaze Stiles.

“Anyway, Thor it is. Those two can make out in whatever we’re watching, so off we go!”

 

After Boyd had gotten two tickets for the last row (subtle, he was not) and Stiles paid for two tickets a little further in the center of the seats (gentleman, he was), the evening went by pretty fast. For two hours, everything went by in a blur of colors, action, music and special effects; with a side dish of Chris Hemsworth’s muscles and Tom Hiddleston’s cunning acting.

 

;:;:;:;

 

“That. Was. Awesome.” Stiles was a little overwhelmed, obviously, but Laura wasn’t much better off.

 

“That it was, dear Stiles!” she exclaimed while they waited for Erica and Boyd to realize the movie had ended a few minutes ago and everyone was filing out. By the way they seemed sewn together at the lips it might take a while. “Aren’t they cute, though?”

 

Erica looked like she was trying to eat Boyd whole. ‘Cute’ wasn’t exactly what came to Stiles’ mind at that image, but whatever; he had used worse adjectives in his stories, so he could bend the truth for his friends. “Yeah, they are. Do you think she’d notice me fleeing the scene?”

 

An obscene, popping noise cut through the empty movie theater before Erica’s angry voice filled the ensuing silence. “Yes, I would, Stiles! You have to make up for seven days of neglecting your friends; you don’t think you can spare one evening for me?”

 

“I still say you wouldn’t notice me missing…” Stiles mumbled under his breath.

 

“I so would, mister! Now stop whining, we’re going out!” How could she hear that? Even he wouldn’t know what he said, hadn’t he said it himself! Hales and their extended family – creeps, all of them!

 

“Hey, you wanna kiss me before movie night is over?” And that was Laura right next to him, pursing her lips in a way that made her look like a duck, making kissy noises into his ear. Stiles jumped away from her, his eyes wide open and probably looking slightly disturbed. “Wow, you’re quite the charmer, aren’t you, Stiles?” But Laura laughed, so it was okay. Hopefully.

 

“Who’s the love-birds now, hu?” That was Erica, standing next to the exit with Boyd by her side.

 

Laura and Stiles looked at each other, both wearing grins across their faces as Stiles held his arm out for Laura to link hers with his. In the end there was linking going on, only Laura opted for Stiles’ hand instead, intertwining their fingers and swinging them between them both. “And now we can go share a milkshake, honey!”

 

They exited the theater like that, chatting amicably (a thing Stiles would have never guessed from his first encounter with Laura, being stuck in that well all those years ago) until they were outside again, heading for their cars.

Someone was standing next to the Camaro, facing away from them. Someone with an impressive build, dark hair, dark leather jacket, dark jeans – dark everything, really. Hot everything, too. And familiar.

 

“Derek!” Erica called excitedly. “You made it!”

 

When Derek turned around he had an almost smile on his face, for half a second. Then his eyes zeroed in on Stiles’ and Laura’s linked hands and a dark expression fell over his features. Even though his face matched his clothes now, his (dark, what else) eyebrows were obviously judging them.

 

“I said I would,” he said in a low growl, eyes never leaving the space between his sister and Stiles. “Didn’t know I would be intruding.”

 

“What? You aren’t! We want you here!” Erica was quick to assure.

 

‘We’ might be somewhat of a stretch, though. Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of Derek’s presence – he still made him nervous whenever he was around – and Laura next to him seemed tense, too. Boyd only had eyes (and ears and hands and mouth) for Erica, he probably hadn’t even realized there was a new addition to their group at all.

 

“I can see that.” What Derek really could see, and that was the only thing, judging by how his gaze was positively fixed on it, was the way Stiles practically latched onto Laura’s hand by now. She had tried to wriggle her fingers out from his, and that wouldn’t do. Not when her brother stood there, looking like he might start ripping things apart any second. Things like Stiles.

 

“Great! Let’s get going, then!” Erica, blissfully ignorant to the tension suffocating their surroundings, led the way towards the mall next to the cinema. “They have the best milkshakes here!”

 

Stiles’ answer was a yelled “OW!” when he felt Laura’s sharp fingernails dig into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. That did the trick and he finally let go of her hand, if only to press the hurt skin between his lips. He bled! Crazy chick!

Derek seemed to loosen up a little for a second as soon as the contact stopped, though. It didn’t last for long, because only moments later a pinched look flitted over his face and he took a deep breath, as if he tried to meditate. Or smell the air.

 

Stiles chuckled nervously, still worrying the abused skin between his lips, and followed his friends into the mall. Now he felt like a third wheel, all of a sudden. Erica and Boyd lived in their own inaccessible sphere, Derek was obviously sulking about something all by himself and Laura seemed oddly distant since Derek’s weird hissy fit.

That left Stiles in his own company, trudging along until there was a Hale at his side again. The male one, this time. “I like your shirt.” Nothing more, just that and a little appraising raising of the eyebrows.

 

It made Stiles feel like he had accomplished something, nonetheless. And he’d _known_ his target shirt ruled!

 

;:;:;:;

 

Ruling shirts aside, the evening turned out to be rather enjoyable as well, once the initial awkwardness had worn off. At the ice parlor the group had split – Boyd and Erica in a separated booth (a single chair would’ve been enough, probably; Erica sat in Boyd’s lap as it was), the Hale siblings plus Stiles in another booth closer to the windows.

 

The parlor itself was nice, all shiny surfaces, child-friendly music in the background, candy colored interior and bright paintings on the wall. In fact, it was the complete opposite of Derek who, in turn, sat opposite from Stiles and that made for a pretty funny picture.

“You ever thought about working here, Derek?” Stiles found himself asking.

 

“Hu?” Derek’s eyebrows showed his surprise even more than his not very elaborate question; he looked so ridiculous Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“No- Nothing, really!” he wheezed, holding his stomach when he bent over with shaking laughter. All the built up tension from the day dissolved in hiccupping laughs, making Stiles gasp for air until his sides burned and his diaphragm was sore. “I’m sorry!”

 

The waitress came to their table and brought Stiles a glass of water with an amused smile in her eyes, and her polka dotted petticoat made him crack up even more until he almost fell from the bench he was perched on. Letting go of the strange atmosphere, forgetting about how he had avoided everyone for a whole week… It was liberating.

“I’ll be back as soon as your friend can breathe again, okay?” the waitress said, still amused, and continued towards the love-birds’ table. Surprisingly enough, they actually ordered. The parlor’s special “Ice C(o)up(le)” for two. It was awesome, Stiles knew. He’d shared it with his parents quite a few times back in the day.

 

“Derek, help him!” Laura almost ordered, pointing at Stiles, who was busy gasping for air and whipping tears from his eyes from all the laughing.

 

“What do you expect me to do, mouth-to-mouth?!”

 

‘Yes, please!’ was what Stiles thought, “I’m o- okay!”what he actually panted instead, waving his hand in the air as if flailing was a sign of health. Well, for him it kind of was, so there’s that.

When he finally got his bearings back together, he was greeted by silence – aside from the cheery background music. And Laura’s snickers. And smooch-y noises from the couple table, but Stiles chose to ignore that.

Okay, Derek was silent and nothing else was. But Derek was looking at him with a clouded expression, all hooded eyes and sharp angles. It looked hot and Stiles wondered what he would look like above him, preferably naked. Sweaty, out of breath, sated. Or not yet sated, but hungry; still sweaty, though. Laura snickered louder now, while Derek started looking bothered by something. Maybe the temperature in here was getting to him, since he started flushing slightly in the face. A good look on him, really. Maybe Derek was a flusher in bed, too? Red blush creeping down his sexually offensive throat, coloring his chest, or making the tips of his ears burn?

 

Now Stiles was uncomfortable too, but not from the temperature, and these tiny tables didn’t allow for an inconspicuous grip southwards to adjust things that got out of hand, so to speak. So Stiles fidgeted, in the hopes the movement would take care of his problem, only it didn’t.

Quite the contrary, actually, and he had to bite his tongue – _hard_ – to keep in the moan the friction against the rough fabric of his jeans caused. He gulped down the glass of water in front of him and hoped for the waitress to arrive as fast as possible, or he’d probably suffocate right here and now, what with Derek sucking all the air in for himself.

 

“Guys, please, you’re making me feel really uncomfortable,” Laura chided from her seat, not even trying to mask her amusement. When she got up to go to the restrooms, Stiles envied her more than anyone else – if alone for the fact that she _could_ get up without making it very obvious why he really shouldn’t. Because if Stiles was to get up right now, he’d probably be thrown out for indecent behavior.

 

“So, uhm, milkshake.” Not the best of Stiles’ conversation starters, but it had to do and the topic was blissfully mundane in its nature.

 

“Yes.” If only Derek were to cooperate.

 

“Chocolate?”

 

“My favorite.” Really, cooperation looked different, Hale!

 

“I’m more of an experiment kind of guy, you know? Try something new, leave the worn out paths, take the world and make it your own!”

 

“With milkshakes.”

 

“Of course! You have to start somewhere! And I’m gonna start with strawberry.”

 

“And how is strawberry ‘something new’?”

 

“Well, it’s better than vanilla, at least. AND you didn’t let me finish. Because there will be tiramisu, too, and toasted coconut.” The disgusted look on Derek’s face was priceless.

 

“You just chose the first two flavors under strawberry, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I did! How else would you do it?” Stiles allowed himself a smug grin. “You still stuck with chocolate?”

 

And finally, FINALLY, Derek rose to the bait and let his eyes sweep over the menu on the table between them. “Chocolate, cinnamon bun and coconut.”

 

“So you both have a thing for nuts, isn’t that convenient?” Laura was back, and she brought awkwardness with her. Yay. At least Stiles boner was gone. Small wins, Stiles learned to appreciate them.

 

;:;:;:;

 

He couldn’t say how exactly it had happened, but when Stiles maneuvered his Jeep out of the parking garage and onto Beacon Hills’ empty streets, he wasn’t alone in the car. Instead Laura was sitting in the passenger seat and Derek was huddled in the backseat, looking so out of place with his bulk, yet somehow seemed surrounded by an air of contentment.

 

“It’s nice of you to let Erica have TripleB to get Boyd home,” Stiles said when it became obvious his passengers wouldn’t start a conversation. He was a talker, that’s what he did. When he wasn’t writing, and he really should get back to that Awkward Jacward thing, but he didn’t have it in him. Not when Sterek was all he could think about lately.

 

“TripleB?” Derek asked with an amused snort.

 

“Black Badass Beast – the Camaro, of course! So, Erica?”

 

“Oh, she will get herself home, too – tomorrow.” Thanks Captain Obvious, aka Laura Hale. “Anyway, it’s nice of _you_ to take _us_ home.”

Derek grunted an affirmative from the backseat, the rest of the drive was spent with Laura looking out of the window, Derek looking straight ahead and Stiles looking in the rear view mirror repeatedly. He didn’t know how Derek did it, but he looked at home in Stiles’ Jeep. It was nice.

 

Not so nice was the moment when they reached the Hale house and both Hales got out of the car. The forest around them was quiet and black, huge in the darkness of the night with only the waxing moon casting small isles of light where the trees stood back around a clearing. It was ethereal and surreal, indescribable and yet felt like everything was exactly where it belonged.

Even Derek Hale, standing next to Stiles’ window, bathed in bleak light that should wash out his contours, but somehow only increased his whole form. He was a part of the night, dark, mysterious and strong. And asking something Stiles hadn’t got the first time he’d been talking.

 

“You coming in for a coffee?” Derek asked in his stoic voice (Derek’s version of shy, maybe?), not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes, and it felt like so much more than just an invitation for a cup of coffee in the middle of the night. But that was probably Stiles getting ahead of himself.

 

“I’d love to!” he said (shouted? maybe…) anyway, flailing out of the Jeep.

Laura was already on the porch, turning around to them as if she was waiting for something, her raised eyebrow emphasizing that impression. From Hottie Hales to Whattie Hales in the blink of an eye, really. And from almost black eyes (all eyes are grey by night and all that) to spooky orange glowing eyes and back again in the blink of an eye, apparently. What?!

 

Maybe he shouldn’t get that coffee after all – obviously his Adderall was acting up tonight. But before he could politely refuse the invitation Stiles felt something warm nudging against his fingers, soon encircling them. Derek had taken his hand in his own, entwining their fingers just like Laura had done earlier, but now it felt so much more intimate. More welcome, too.

When Stiles fought his eyes up from their linked hands to Derek’s face, he found the other man watching him apprehensively, ready to bolt, and yet hopeful at the same time. It was pretty.

Ehm, pretty mesmerizing, and Stiles could not _not_ drink in that look.

 

The moment stretched, no one talking, not even breathing, until Derek tugged at their hands, probably trying to separate them again, but Stiles wouldn’t have any of that. His grip around Derek’s calloused fingers strengthened, as did the conviction in his eyes.

“No! This is… This is nice.”

 

“Yeah, it is,” Derek answered, voice small, a hidden smile flitting over his face in the pale moonlight. “So, about that coffee?”

 

“I- Yeah, coffee. Please.” This time Derek’s tug didn’t feel like he was trying to get away from Stiles. It was an unspoken invitation and Stiles followed willingly, a stupid smile on his face that even Laura’s smug grin couldn’t dispel.

 

“Do you take cream in your cof-“ Laura started, but Derek interrupted her with a tight “Don’t!”, half barked, half said, and Laura stopped surprisingly enough. “Okay, Der. I’m gonna leave you two alone, then. Good night, Stiles, and thanks for the evening. It was really nice.”

 

Stiles nodded along – he had enjoyed the evening as well, and the grand final right now was even better. “Anytime, Laura. That’s what friends are for.”

 

Laura smiled through her goodbyes before she vanished up the stairs without making a sound on the old, wooden stairs. A feat Stiles would never accomplish.

But right now he didn’t need to, because Derek led him through a door on the first floor and into the spacious kitchen where he started on the coffee immediately. Right after Stiles let go of his hand, that is.

 

“So, um, your coffee?” Derek whispered into the silence.

 

“Cream and sugar, please,” Stiles answered, not daring to be louder than Derek. He was in the Hale kitchen in the middle of the night, Derek was making him coffee, they had held hands earlier – every noise could bust that thing they had going, could make Stiles wake up from this and he didn’t want that. Not for anything.

 

Not even for the sheriff his ringtone decided to have shot instead of the deputy.

“Yes, dad?” Stiles put all the annoyance he could into those two words when he answered Bob Marley’s call for his attention. He listened to his dad’s rambling for a bit before he cut him off. “I left you a note. It’s IN the fridge, right on the salad I prepared for you. I take it you didn’t find it? I wonder what you had for dinner, then. Yeah, we gonna talk about that tomorrow. Love you!”

 

Derek sat next to him when Stiles hung up on his dad, watching him. “Trouble?”

 

“Yep. But not for me, for a change,” Stiles smiled at Derek and closed his hands around the warm mug in front of him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

 

“Thanks for coming in.” It was so ridiculous, it was. Nineteen year old Stiles, twenty something year old Derek, and they sat next to each other like pubescent teens with their first crush. But that’s what they did, and Stiles enjoyed it.

 

He enjoyed it until both their mugs were empty and Stiles heaved a sigh. “I should head home or my dad won’t get any sleep at all.”

 

Instead of answering Derek got up, took Stiles’ hand and led him back to the front door and out onto the porch. There he stopped, turning to Stiles and once again taking hold of his hands. “The evening was nice. Thank you.”

 

Stiles smiled back at him, drinking in Derek’s honest expression and the shine in his eyes. “Yeah, I had fun, too. Let’s do it again?”

 

A small tug at his hands brought Stiles a small step forward, straight into Derek, and their mouths met in a quick, chaste kiss. Dry lips on dry lips, more a peck than anything else, and still the single best thing that night. “Good night, Stiles.”

 

 

Stiles’ memories of his way home were fuzzy at best, his brain still processing the events of the night. After a lot of muddled moments and tense times, the results were great. They were, right? And they would still be great tomorrow, right?

Until he reached home Stiles had managed to talk himself into a minor anxiety attack – far from a panic attack, but still very uncomfortable – and his breath came short and ragged.

 

Once again Stiles’ phone dragged him out of the moment; now a welcome distraction when it announced a message. ‘Y _ou free on Friday? Derek_ ’

 

‘ _anytime 4 u! x Stiles_ ’ Forgotten was the anxiety, the fear of this thing being a one-night-stand without the ‘stand’ and all that was left was a stupid grin on Stiles’ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still open for suggestions, comments, pointers to what I can improve, what’s good, what’s not – everything. You guys are great! :)  
> Thanks for reading at all - means a lot to me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How early is too early to begin preparations for a date? A week before is totally sensible.  
> When's the right time to hear about your best friend's sexathon after an awkward double date? Never.  
> Did Timmy really fall down the well? Find out in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. This shouldn't have taken as long as it actually did, but I didn't know where my head was these last few weeks and I'll be looking for it for quite some time still, so. Sorry? ^^  
> Anyway, have chapter 4 of the Head Canon!

** Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon **

_Chapter 4_

 

Stiles’ plans for the weekend had originally consisted of calling Scott first thing Saturday morning and griping about how awkward his double date with Erica, Boyd and Isaac had been; only, he hadn’t been on a double date with Erica, Boyd and Isaac, but with Erica, Boyd and Laura. Scott had been the one to double date Isaac and some nameless girl, Stiles had survived a whole movie next to Laura Hale and ended up with Derek Hale as his…

Derek wasn’t his boyfriend ( _yet_ , a small voice in Stiles’ mind whispered gleefully), not exactly. They hadn’t even gone on a date, not technically. Well, they had _somewhat_ , and yet they hadn’t. Stiles wondered if their next date – _first_ date? – would be as awkward as their last not-date had been. Would Derek take him out for ice cream in the first place? Next place? (Maybe Not-)Dating was complicated.

 

So Stiles had finally found a new topic to flail over verbally to Scott; Scott who he was about to call, no matter the time. 7 am on a Saturday was a reasonable enough time, wasn’t it?

 

“Hm…” grunted Scott his disaffirmation of that thought.

 

“Come on, dude, it’s like, after dawn! The sun’s up, why aren’t you?!”

 

“Stiles, 7 am. Saturday.” Scott wasn’t usually this grouchy, Stiles knew. And he was usually all for complete sentences, not one word answers. Others were for one word answers, so why now?

He asked as much. And could have lived a happy live NOT knowing about how Allison and Scott got so worked up last night that they didn’t get to sleep until 5 am, even though they had gone to bed around 11 pm last night.

 

“Fuck you, Scott!” Scott knew about Stiles’ very imaginative mind, complete with images and everything.

Ew.

 

“Not today, Stiles. Still spent, you know.” That asshole was _smug_.

 

“I made out with Hale last night!” Stiles positively shouted into the speaker before he ended the call and threw his phone onto the mattress next to him.

Okay, maybe he had exaggerated a little bit. Or a lot, sue him. Stiles was cranky, what with his best friend having had a great night with the girl that loved him (most of the time) and he loved (ALL of the time) while Stiles had spent an unhealthy amount of time jerking off to the memory of what effectively amounted to a peck.

Great.

 

 

Now that his second plan for the morning had gone to waste as well, Stiles realized to things at once:

1) He needed new friends, because it just wouldn’t do that all his free time plans revolved around one single person; a single person as unreliable as Scott.

2) He needed something else to do or he would go crazy. It was still six days until Friday, when Stiles would go on a date with Derek freakin’ Hale.

 

He would go on a date with Derek freakin’ Hale! But before that, Stiles would go crazy. Like, now.

Oh. My. God!

 

;:;:;:;

 

A shower later (you could never be clean enough for a date, right? And starting early on the cleaning process only meant you were particularly thorough. And would probably squeak the whole time, whenever you moved. And now, a week before the date wasn’t _too soon_ to start squeaking) Stiles went back to his room, expecting several missed calls and some confused texts from Scott. He had dropped quite a bomb earlier, so some freaking out was to be expected.

Only, there wasn’t.

 

No missed calls, no texts, not even WhatsApp or anything. Which brought Stiles back to his thoughts about finding a new Best Bro. There’d need to be some kind of casting; single requirement: Heartfelt Hugs®.

Stiles could already picture it: Thousands and thousands of aspiring Best Bros standing in line, their resume at hand and excitedly waiting for their opportunity to prove their ‘huggy-ness’ to Stiles. And Scott would be the one left in the dust. Or Allison’s bed, whatever.

 

That’s when Stiles’ phone vibrated in his hand, making him rethink his replacement plans for a second until he read the caller ID. “Leerica calls” it said, not “Scotty Mc calls”. Maybe Erica was the first one of thousands to audition?

 

“Hey, Erica, whassup?”

 

“Yeah, Stiles, whassup indeed. I hear you _took_ Derek home last night?” Even Leerica’s voice lived up to her nickname. The talking in italics never got old with the (Honorary) Hales.

 

“You were severely misinformed – I took Derek AND Laura home. Unlike you did with Boyd. Wanna tell me what that’s about?”

 

“No deviating me, Stilinski, I’m onto you. So, Derek. Tell me!” Like hell would he tell her even one single thing!

 

“I took them home, and then I wanted to go home, but then Derek invited me in for a cup of coffee and then we were in the kitchen and then we drank coffee and then he showed me to the door and then he kissed me and then he text me and now we’re going on a date on Friday.” It all rushed out of Stiles in a single breath. Curse words! So maybe he _would_ tell her one single thing. Or five.

 

Erica made an unimpressed noise over the phone. “And you’re sure that’s all there is to it? You were all over him!”

 

“I was what?! What does that even mean? And you really do NOT need to sound so bored, okay? Not everyone is as intrusive as you are, when it comes to boundaries. And anyhow, you weren’t supposed to know in the first place!” And how Erica knew anything about what had happened (or she thought had happened) last night was a mystery all on its own.

 

“Not much is a secret in the Hale house, Stiles, I thought you’d know that by now.” So Derek told her about them? Was that good or bad? Did he _want_ Derek to tell his family about them? About Stiles? Or was it all a huge joke to Derek? “And Derek didn’t even need to say a thing, the way you must’ve clung to him. He _reeked_ of you.”

 

“Hey, I showered!” And _that_ was what he took from all that? Really??

 

“Of course you did, it was a date after all!” Erica laughed. Loudly. And at Stiles. Always a great feeling to make someone else’s day – it was one of Stiles’ not so hidden talents. Like juggling.

Most people didn’t think him capable of juggling, what with his penchant to flailing and running into things. Only, that was exactly why he knew how to juggle; it was a skill honed by years and years of balancing trays with his mother’s breakfast and later on juggling her bread rolls because she wouldn’t eat them, but could always need something to make her laugh. And why was he thinking about juggling food again?

 

“You Hales, you’re a crazy bunch; you know that, right? What with the smells and the eyebrows. I don’t know why I still put up with you!” Stiles really didn’t; at least not with Erica and Isaac – Derek was another story for another time. Friday, for example.

 

“Oh, but we all know who you’d put _out_ for, dear Stiles!” Erica laughed again, but now it’d lost its appeal and Stiles hang up without saying good bye. Nuisances, all of them.

When his phone rang with Scott’s personalized ringtone (‘NOW you call, Scott, really?!’) Stiles ignored it and buried his head under his pillows.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Stiles had dreaded the coming Monday, knowing there was no point in trying to hide from his friends. Isaac had shown an uncanny talent of appearing exactly where Stiles was about to hide, Erica had long since proven herself able to find Stiles wherever he hid, Boyd (even though not really a friend yet, he had to be considered part of the deal) simply tagged along and Stiles wasn’t willing to even try to get through the day without Scott’s hug. Not as long as he didn’t have a substitute, at least.

 

When he turned the corner and saw his ragtag group of friends huddled around, looking like one giant pile of mockery at his expense, Stiles found himself reassessing his earlier statement. Turning around on his heel, he avoided the main entrance to their university and opted for one of the side entrances, hidden behind a worn down wall made of wood, a well known refuge for smokers on campus.

He hadn’t quite made it inside when someone appeared from behind him and Stiles found himself blind.

 

“Guess who!” a female voice screamed in his ear and made him wince. “Oh, sorry, trying to tamp down on the volume, got it.” And while the voice managed to reach a level where his ear-drums didn’t feel like they were about to implode, the cloud of perfume engulfing him was nowhere near a tolerable level.

 

“Lauren! Hey, long time no see!” Stiles said, turning around and welcoming his fellow student with a wide grin. He liked her good enough, even though their interactions had become less and less frequent since Stiles’ circle of friends had grown considerably over the last few weeks.

 

“Yeah, since last Friday. Time flies, hu?” A derisive eyebrow let Stiles know what Lauren thought of his observation skills – not much, apparently – and reminded him strongly of Derek’s way of expressing his thoughts via eyebrows. “So, what you’ve been up to this weekend? I thought I saw you at the movies with some girl or such.”

 

So, obviously his observation skills really weren’t all that hot, or he had just been distracted by Laura’s sudden appearance. But was that reason enough to give him judging eyebrows?

“Uh, yeah, I watched Thor with some friends.”

 

“And that lady friend of yours? Anything I should know about? Someone I should know? You have to give me something, Stiles!” she openly begged, trailing behind him like a needy puppy and trying to convince him with a puppy eyed stare. Only, she really wasn’t able to hold a candle to Scott’s mastery of the Puppy Eyes; worse was only the Puppy Pout®.

 

“Eh, I don’t think so? Was just a night out with friends, the movies, milk shakes, the likes.”

 

“Oh, great! So you wouldn’t mind going to the movies with me then? Say, coming Friday?” Puppy eyes to hopeful eyes in 0.2 seconds flat.

 

Stiles had heard about this ‘aura’, like how you were more desirable for other people as soon as you were in a relationship – not that he actually WAS in a relationship, but he wanted to be and maybe he and Derek were on their way to a relationship and maybe that counted for this aura thing already? Only, it wasn’t exactly welcome right now and he wasn’t into girls anyway and why was Lauren hitting on him now of all times? They had seen each other every week for the past two months! And this was sooo Erica all over again, it was a little creepy.

Figures, creepy girls were all over Stiles.

“Lauren, that’s… nice! But, ehm, I can’t? I might be seeing someone, maybe?”

 

“What aren’t you telling me, Stiles? You said you were friends with that Hale bi— _girl_ , nothing more, and now you’re seeing someone? ‘Maybe’?”

 

“See, Lauren, I’m sorry, okay, but I don’t have to explain myself to you. It’s nice of you to ask me to ask you out for a date, but I don’t see that happening. Doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, right?” They never had been ‘friends’ in the first place, but ‘study buddy’ sounded cheap in this context, so ‘friends’ would have to do.

 

“Right, friends. I have to go.” Lauren didn’t sound hurt, exactly, more like she was angry with him, but then again Stiles didn’t know her good enough to be able to read her moods, so he let her go without another word. The look she shot him with her departure (sooo much dislike, it made him shudder) wasn’t exactly asking for a friendly ‘See ya’ or anything.

 

Mondays weren’t Stiles’ days. At least he had managed to avert an awkward conversation with his friends for the time being…

 

“Guess who!” – “Dammit, Erica! Your fingernails are gorging my eyes out!”

“Ew, Stiles, did you shower in some kind of patchouli today? Ew!” And how was it whenever Isaac was around he told him he stank?!

 

;:;:;:;

 

Despite the dreaded awkwardness of having to face his friends after what had happened with Derek (and after what they _assumed_ had happened with Derek, which actually made things worse), the next few days flew by and Stiles’ excitement changed to nervousness grew to panickyness.

It was Thursday already (where had the rest of the week gone?!) and Stiles hadn’t heard a single word from Derek for the past six days. Not since he’d gotten the text. The text he might have read about twenty times. Every day. So he’d read it over 120 times by now, and he was reading it again.

 

‘Pathetic’, a little voice in his head whispered, and it sounded suspiciously like Erica. ‘Why don’t you call him or text him? He would like that!’

“Ugh, my subconscious sounds like Erica,” Stiles groaned at Scott, who was sitting next to him in the lecture hall. “Telling me what to do. My subconscious Erica is bossy!”

 

“No, idiot! _I_ am bossy, and I sound like I do because I _am_ Erica!” the Blonde Bombshell said behind him, emphasizing her point by poking Stiles in the ribs.

 

“I liked you better when you were still in my head. Less poking.” But he couldn’t be all that pissed at Erica, since she kept her meddling to a minimum and only whispered ideas into his ears every two hours or so. For the last four days, and even at night she’d bombard him with queued up emails. But, hey, every two hours was okay, right? It sure could be worse.

 

“Stop complaining, Stiles. You don’t want to know what I’d be able to do if I only wanted to. And I DO want to, I just decided not to.”

And Stiles really, really didn’t want to know. The memory of Erica threatening him into submission back when Boyd was still to be wooed (by Stiles, for Erica) was still fresh in his mind and he wasn’t up for a repeat performance, so he would endure two-hourly reminders for another day and be done with it.

 

That’s when his phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling an incoming text. “I wonder who that might be…”, Stiles mumbled as he reached into his pocket. His two hour reprieve wasn’t over for another half an hour (Stiles may or may not have been keeping track of the time), but he wouldn’t put it past Erica to grow impatient with his severe lack in approaching Derek BEFORE they were meeting. Which would happen the next day, anyway, so there wasn’t any reason to come across as clingy and codependent just yet. Derek would learn that tidbit about him soon enough. Hopefully.

 

‘ _Hey Stiles. Can I come get you around 6:30?_ ’

 

Derek. And it had taken him only six days to write again – that had to mean something, right?

‘ _course! ill be here!! cant wait!!!_ ’ Stiles had typed his answer faster than he could think (and that’s an achievement right there!) and hit send before he could doubt his actions. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel like a loser the second the text was sent. Who was that desperate for a first date?

Answering the second you got the first text, increasing number of exclamation points and ‘ _cant wait_ ’?! Really?!? Pathetic, that’s what he was.

 

‘ _Great! See you tomorrow!_ ’

 

And maybe Stiles wasn’t quite as pathetic…

He still didn’t know what they’d be doing on their date, though. And that was reason enough to get a little nervous again; even though Stiles wasn’t a dark horse when it came to dating – he’d had a few of them back in the day, okay? – it still was something different this time around.

Derek was twenty-something, Stiles… wasn’t. Derek was gorgeous, Stiles… wasn’t. On the other hand: Even though Stiles had dated, he still was a virgin. Derek probably wasn’t.

 

And Stiles would not think about sex right now, even less about sex with Derek. He wouldn’t! He didn’t!

He totally did. And it was awesome. And kinda frightening.

 

“Hey, Erica!” he shouted into his phone. “You free right now? I need help.”

 

“I know, Stiles, but I’m not a shrink.”

 

“No, but you are Blonde Bombshell! Fashion should be your middle name, if only there were a ‘B’ in there, but there isn’t, yet you know how to dress. And I don’t. Just move your boobs over here and help me!”

He could hear Erica laugh out loud until she ended the call. Stiles could only hope the result would make sacrificing his dignity worth it.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Judging by the astonished look Derek sported when Stiles stepped out of the door to his house, losing his dignity was, in fact, a small sacrifice to make. Too bad he wouldn’t live to reap the fruit of his action, because. Because!

 

Because Derek stood next to his black Camaro, wearing black slacks and a white button down shirt, the top buttons undone and showing off his throat in a more than mouthwatering way and Stiles was done for.

Suddenly he felt inadequate, like he shouldn’t be seen with Derek in those clothes. But he didn’t want to miss out on their date, either. Maybe he could wear a paper bag over his head so no one would recognize the geek next to Derek? Some very fashionable bag, maybe? Louis Vuitton-fashionable, only in paper.

“You… You look great, Stiles,” Derek said despite the absence of paper bags, swallowing around the words when he made his way up the driveway to the Stilinski household.

 

Only, Stiles really didn’t look all that great. Yes, he looked sharper than he usually did, what with the body hugging plain navy shirt Erica had dug out of his closet (where she’d found this particular shirt would stay a secret forever) and the semi tight dark jeans (yet another one of Erica’s miracles), but he was still Stiles, only without the multi layers; one layered and therefore almost naked. Figuratively.

Feeling the need to communicate his thoughts (and wasn’t that unexpected?), Stiles said as much, adding “You though, you look… handsome!”

He’d wanted to say ‘sexy’. Or ‘mouthwatering’. Something along those lines, but ‘handsome’ seemed more mature, and Stiles wanted to appear mature. So that mature things could happen later.

 

“I… I do? Thanks. Ehm, let’s go?” Never before had Stiles seen Derek this flustered and it was a nice change. So Stiles simply nodded and let Derek lead him to the car, staying half a step behind to ogle Derek’s positively lickable ass in those slacks.

Until Derek held the passenger door open for Stiles and laid his hand on Stiles’ lower back, guiding him around the door. Derek was all up in Stiles’ personal space and for a second he thought Derek might try to buckle him in as well, he was so close. But he didn’t, just bent down to smile at Stiles from very up close, closing his eyes and staying for a second, before he withdrew and closed the door silently.

 

“So, where are we going then?” Stiles asked when they both were sitting in the Camaro. Derek still had to start the motor, let alone pull out of the drive way.

 

“I was thinking _La Volpe_. I hear they have a great lasagna and their _zuppa alla valdostana_ makes people cite poetry.”

 

Stiles was about to cite poetry in the face of Derek speaking Italian, but refrained from further embarrassing himself and simply nodded. Italian restaurant he could do – he would simply stay away from both tomato sauce and spaghetti and he should be okay.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Figured it’d been pretty hard to steer clear of both tomato sauce and spaghetti – who knew the Italian cuisine depends so heavily on solanaceous herbs – but at least Stiles could choose between different types of pasta – and that’s where the alternation comes into the kitchen, because, really? ‘ _Dodici_ different delicacies’ hadn’t been the total amount of dishes on the menu, it had been the number of different noodle sorts!

Anyway, pasta. Of the harmless kind, hence the comforting lack of any stains on Stiles’ clothes at the end of the date.

 

And no stains on his shirt meant Derek could pull him close against his chest when he had taken Stiles home and they were standing in front of the Stilinski home.

“Tonight was nice,” Derek said into Stiles’ ear, hot, humid breath turning perfectly fine skin into goosebumped shivers.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles pretty much stammered while he fought for control over his blood flow and prayed for strength in his knees. What an end to an amazing date that would be – Stiles’ legs buckling and having him kneeling in front of Derek, mouth at the same level as Derek’s—STOP!

 

“Good night, Stiles,” Derek said then, still breathing heavily into Stiles’ ear, but Stiles could feel his lips twitch into a grin against his cheek. “Sleep well.”

And just like that he took a step back and turned back towards his car. Stiles wouldn’t have any of that. Instead he grabbed for Derek’s (still very nice) shirt and turned him so that they were facing each other once more. He closed the distance Derek’s step back had left between them, and turned his head just so. And waited.

 

And waited two seconds more and when Derek still had to give any indication that he was about to act on Stiles’ actions, Stiles decided ‘fuck it’ and went in for the kill.

Their lips met with a muffled groan from Derek and a broken sounding mewl from Stiles, mouths closed. Derek was still grinning that very same grin he had pressed against Stiles’ cheeks and it gave their kiss something playful, light hearted. It was… tame.

Nice, sure, but tame. And Stiles was done with tame for the night. When he opened his mouth and licked over Derek’s lower lip, the broken sound emanating from somewhere deep in Derek’s throat made it clear he was done with tame as well.

 

Stiles hadn’t even finished stroking the tip of his tongue over Derek’s lip when Derek delved into the kiss with fervor. Gone was the smile, gone were tameness and caution. They were left with passion and heat, gripping at each other’s clothes and meshing their mouths. It was… awesome.

 

“I should get going,” Derek mumbled against Stiles’ lips at one point, but didn’t make any attempts at untangling from the limpet grip Stiles had on him. “And your father’s home. He might’ve heard us coming back.”

 

Feeling Derek speak against his spit damp lips (probably red and swollen from all the kissing and nibbling Derek had done, on top of the general pricklyness of his face) made Stiles grin and he finally let go. Derek had a point; the Camaro’s motor’s purring was near unmistakable, even more so in their neighborhood where soccer mom vans and SUVs dominated the picture.

 

They parted ways, the Black Badass Beast slowly fading into the night, leaving Stiles under the swaying light of the lantern on their front porch.

Not before even the last hint of red from Derek’s tail-lights had vanished did Stiles turn around and head inside. His father indeed was home, but having been caught was nowhere near likely, what with the sheriff slouching in his wing chair in front of the TV, snoring lightly.

 

“G’night, dad,” Stiles whispered, turned off the TV and left the room in darkness, climbing familiar stairs in the dark of the night and finally falling onto his mattress. He got rid of his fancy clothes, now wrinkled by Derek’s hands and Stiles lying on them on his bed, but he couldn’t get rid of the tingling sensation on his lips, nor of the grin that still stretched the tingling parts of his face.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Luckily Stiles’ beard rash had vanished until his dad came home from work the next day – when Stiles had gotten up and stumbled into the bathroom his first reaction to seeing himself in the mirror had been to slap both hands over his cheeks. In disappointment.

He had expected angry red marks, testament to how much Derek wanted him, had _hoped_ for it, and all he got was a hint of pink around his lips and a trail of dried drool in the corner of his mouth.

Still, it made facing his father considerably easier.

 

“Hey dad, how was work?”

 

“Oh, you know. Beacon Hills is quiet, not many crimes going on. Not even when you’ve been out half of the night; I’m proud, son!”

 

“And what’s that supposed to mean? It’s been _years_ since Scott and I’ve last gotten into trouble, I’ll have you know!” Stiles was righteously indignant.

 

“Which probably means either you two are more cautious now or the police has gotten sloppy. But I wasn’t talking about you and _Scott_ …”

 

“I can hear the italics, dad. Just spit it out.” Stiles wasn’t even afraid of what was to come – the sheriff had been working when Derek had picked him up yesterday and had been asleep when they came back, so there was no way he knew about them.

 

“I’ve been to the arcades last night, some teens thinking fake IDs made of library cards were convincing enough for them to get drunk. In the end they got drunk on the two pints of nonalcoholic beer they downed after the barkeeper called us and we reached the bar. But swaying teens slurring their speech without any blood alcohol wasn’t the only thing I hadn’t expected to see. I met that Erica girl you were all over those last few weeks.”

 

“You mean you met that Erica girl I’ve been telling you I have NOT been all over these last few weeks,” Stiles interrupted, not seeing where this was going.

 

“Whatever. She DID talk about how she saw you naked that day, though.”

 

Stiles blushed. “That’s not what—“

 

“I know, son. The way she clung to that young man with her was quite obvious. That doesn’t explain why you weren’t able to dress yourself for a night of gaming with Scott, though. Or why you two chose two play in a restaurant rather than at Scott’s. Or why you played footsie, not footie. Or why air-hockey at the arcades was replaced by tonsil hockey on our front por—“

 

“Enough!” Stiles was beet red by now and he could feel his ears burning with embarrassment. “You’re delirious. I ban you from the coffee machine for today.”

 

“Stiles, just tell me the name of that gentleman so I can thank him for bringing you home.”

 

“Only if you tell me who told you all these things.”

 

“Deputy Posey likes to take his wife out for their anniversary, and they usually go to a certain Italian restaurant. ‘Volpe’ ring any bells? And Mrs. Fristoe from next door is very observant when, and I quote, ‘questionable men loiter in dark corners’. Apparently it’s her duty as a concerned citizen to let the Sheriff know about these things.”

 

The soft tone to his voice made Stiles look up and meet the warm, pale green eyes of his father; his gaze full of understanding and support. “Ehm, well, yeah. Uhm. I should’ve told you sooner, but I’m gay?”

 

“Are you asking me or telling me, Stiles?”

 

“Yeah, I’m gay. Have been for quite a while, actually. And I might be dating a guy already. Not for a while, though, just a week. Or maybe since yesterday, depending on how you look at it. Just… don’t look to closely, okay? It’s still fresh and I don’t want Derek to run screaming because the Sheriff of Beacon Hills interrogated him in the fruit isle of Doose’s Market.”

 

“I would never-“ the sheriff begins and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d do it near the meat counter. The meat and blood gives it a certain vibe that always works for that kind of talk.”

 

Stiles buried his face in his hands and shook his head. How was this his life?

 

;:;:;:;

 

As far as coming outs went, Stiles’ felt pretty boring to him. Uneventful and kind of lacking in the whole drama department, but still pretty fucking great for the feeling constricting his chest. As in: It was gone and Stiles felt like he could breathe easier, now that the hiding was over. Not that he’d had a lot to hide from his dad, what with the lack in anything even remotely resembling a love life, but now that there was the prospect of something _good_ at the end of the (hopefully short) tunnel, it was nice to know his father had his back.

Even if he’d have to defend it from Mrs. Fristoe.

 

Speaking of which… “Good morning, Stiles!” Never before had she greeted Stiles, not even when he had greeted her first, or helped her with the groceries. And suddenly she was all cheery politeness, waving at him from under her wide straw hat while she was clipping away on her box hedge with what looked like glorified nail clippers. “Had a nice weekend?”

 

“Why yes, indeed I did. I’m glad you noticed!” Stiles couldn’t quite keep the snideness out of his voice but he tried to cover it with a blinding smile. “It was good to let go of the week’s bothers and enjoy a few days off.”

What he _meant_ was ‘Back off’, but Mrs. Fristoe obviously didn’t get it.

 

“I have to admit I was a little worried. Did you know homeless people choose the porch of Beacon Hills’ Finest for loitering in the night?”

 

Stiles put on an adequately scandalized face. “You don’t say! Now, how do you know? I haven’t noticed at all!” His eyes grew wider with every second, and his neighbor positively glowed at the attention she got.

 

“It was Friday night. I was watching TV when I chanced a look out of the window – and I was lucky I did, I’m usually not all that interested in gossip, you know me-“ Yes, yes Stiles did. “But there were two dark shades on your front porch, and they looked like they were… You know.”

 

“No, I don’t, Mrs. Fristoe. What do you think you saw us doing?” The elderly woman was nothing if not amusing in her prejudiced philistinism.

When she failed to answer the question, obviously scandalized by the idea of the Sheriff’s son engaging in anything shady, Stiles turned around and got into his Jeep. He had places to be, people to meet, stories to tell.

And Scott would suffer through every minute of Stiles’ date with Derek, would relive every second of the most awesome kiss to be ever kissed after a first date, and maybe, if Stiles felt generous, would experience the renarration of Stiles’ masturbathon after he had gone to bed.

 

;:;:;:;

 

In the end Stiles spared Scott the retelling of Stilinski Strokes and even abstained from describing the delicious scratchy feeling of Derek’s stubble against his skin, all in favor of the big Coming Out that morning in the Sheriff’s kitchen.

 

“So you’re out?” Scott asked, bouncing up and down on his bed in his easily excited state. “That’s great, man! And you did it for Derek? Does the Sheriff know about Derek? Did you have another sex talk?”

 

“Scott, Scott! Calm down! Jeez. No, he doesn’t know about Derek and no, there wasn’t another sex talk.” Actually, his dad had tried to give him yet another sex talk, but Stiles had embarrassed him with the offer to supply their talk with view material – both in sights and sounds. His dad had squeaked desperately, then waved him out of the house under threats of bodily harm should he ever blackmailing him like that again.

 

Surprisingly Scott was way more invested in learning about the talk Stiles had had with his dad than he’d been learning about Stiles’ date, but Stiles was in a charitable mood, so he indulged Scott for the time being. And it felt pretty great bragging about his great dad and how understanding he was.

Yes, Stilinski men were their very own brand of awesome.

That didn’t mean at least one McCall man wasn’t just as awesome, so Scott asked if Stiles had told Derek he’d come out to his dad. Had he known he hadn’t been out in the first place?

 

“No, Scott, I haven’t told him. Do you think I should? I probably should, hu? Would you want to know?” Stiles was working himself into a state of frenzy, tearing at his hear and generally flailing with every limb, until Scott dragged him into a headlock and laughed at him.

 

“Calm down, dude! Call him, drive over and tell him or something. It’s no big deal – you’re dating, after all. It’s good when your father knows.”

Thank god for Scott, like, seriously. Sometimes his Hearty Headlocks® were better suited for a situation than the Heartfelt Hug® was, and this was one of these moments, so Stiles gave in and hung limp in his best friend’s arms.

 

“You think I should go see him? We only met yesterday, and I don’t want to come across as some kind of creepy stalker.”

 

“Dude, the Hales have been stalking you for months; they probably _expect_ you to do some stalking of your own.” And he had a point.

 

 

That’s why Stiles found himself in the woods surrounding the Hale House.

A few moments ago he had been sneaking closer to where he’d hoped the building actually was. He’d left his Jeep parked down the road, opting for a stealthier approach through the underbrush, past thorny bushes and scrambling up hills and slopes. Looking at his long, long history of childhood injuries, obtained in this very forest, Stiles should have known better than to rely on his good luck.

 

Stiles fell. Into a well – again; and even though it rhymed, it wasn’t really something to whoop for, so he didn’t. What he did, though, was treading water and contemplating his situation.

If a Stiles fell into a well deep in the forest and no-one was around to hear him scream – would Laura still come and rescue him? Like the last time he’d found himself treading water in one of the Hales’ wells?

Nope, unfortunately not. But Derek did. Awkward.

 

The Hale offspring peered into the well, his dark haired head halo’ed by the light sky visible over the well shaft, looking like a fallen angel. Or maybe that was just Stiles overreacting to the fact that he was caught in a deep, dark hole and his boyfr—the guy he dated had found him in this embarrassing situation.

 

“Hey, Derek, fancy meeting you here! You here often?”

Instead of answering Derek’s head vanished from the small circle of the outer world Stiles could see, and instead his laughter filled the dark shaft, bouncing back from the walls and filling the air with amusement. It sounded nice, so Stiles didn’t feel too annoyed by it.

 

“Oh my god, Laura should see this!” Derek wheezed before he pulled Stiles out of the well with a rope he had gotten from, well, somewhere. Stiles couldn’t help but admire both Derek’s apparent strength and the way his arms bulged under the strain of dragging 147 pounds of sarcasm out of a ten feet deep hole.

 

“Actually, she did once already. Let’s just hope she forgot about it…”

 

 

When Stiles was greeted by a cheerful “Hey Timmy, how was your swim,” even before he had entered the Hale House behind Derek, miserable and dripping mud everywhere, he knew she hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed my chapters get shorter and shorter. I want to apologize for that. Maybe the quality makes up for it? Let me know! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that first (second?) date with Derek Stiles goes onto three more first dates - with different... well... not all of them are people, exactly.

** Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon **

_Chapter 5_

 

All humiliations aside, Stiles’ visit at the Hale House wasn’t all that unpleasant. Except for Laura’s endless laughter following him from the porch, into the entrance hall, up the stairs and down the corridor. But Stiles was following Derek (and therefore Derek’s very nice backside), so he counted his situation a win. Mostly, despite still being wet and somewhat miserable.

Once Derek had led him upstairs into his room, which had an adjacent bathroom, and left him with some of his clothes to change into after a shower, Stiles found himself standing in the middle of his dating-guy’s room, unsupervised and nosy.

Oh, and still grimy, slimy and several other mud-induced adjectives. Disgusting, in short.

 

Derek’s room, on the other hand, was everything _but_ disgusting. Stiles had expected looming furniture and dark paneled walls, a stuccoed ceiling and maybe a gargoyle or two in front of his (possibly barred) windows. And yet here he was, standing in a modern room with walls in a deep red across from big windows, a yellow-ish wheat color covering the other three walls, complementing the wooden-red furniture. But the bed… The _bed_! Never in his life had Stiles seen a bed quiet as prominent as this one.

Standing against a wall it still reached into the middle of the room; a lot of free space surrounded the gigantic four poster bed and put even more of a focus onto the dark walnut wood of the frame, the intricate square design of the headboard. The matching bedside tables, one on each side of the caught Stiles interest for a second – what would Derek need next to his bed? Books and reading glasses? Derek in glasses might be a secret kink of Stiles. Or his underwear? Derek in underwear might be yet another kink of Stiles. Or, dare he even think it, condoms and lube? Or, rather only lube, because Derek wouldn’t need condoms without Stiles in his life (/bed).

A man can dream, right?

 

So instead of giving into the _need_ to sift through Derek’s drawers (for now; he knew where Derek kept his sweats and his tees already) he vanished into the tiled bathroom and peeled himself out of his dripping clothes, leaving them in a pile of icky ooze.

The puddle forming around the sad heap of cotton and denim both reflected the dark grey of the tiles surrounding Stiles (they might be made of shale; they bled masculinity and _savoir-vivre_ all over the place – or the signature of a gifted interior designer) and the untimely death of yet another phone. Stiles decided to mourn it after a warm shower.

 

Apropos shower, Derek’s shower would probably frown at being called a mere ‘shower’. Stiles wondered for a second whether it’d grow eyebrows for frowning purposes; did Derek rub off on his furniture? The shower itself was a monstrosity with more sprays than the Stilinski house had rooms and it definitely was too complicated for Stiles to simply choose a temperature and revel in the cleaning magic it probably provided. Case in point: Stiles turned a rather unsuspicious looking knob and got pounded straight into the face by an ice cold jet of water. He was soaked in the blink of an eye (once again) and shivering (once again); chattering teeth did a poor job of masking his manly cry of indignation at being bested by a plumbing unit and he glared at the offending nozzle with at least 2/3 Derek.

Yes, ‘Derek’ was now an official measuring unit for the intensity of a glare. Just like inappropriateness could be quantified in ‘Leerica’.

 

Having said that, Stiles still wanted to take a shower, preferably with all limbs still attached and with soothingly warm water instead of barely liquid ice cubes. Oh, and not drowning in the bathroom sounded pretty swell, too, seeing as the nozzle of hell was still flooding the tiled floor around Stiles.

 

“Stiles, you alright in there?” He had been, thank you very much. Until Derek had opened the door a crack and pushed his head into the gap, looking concerned. “I thought I heard you cry.”

Diving for a towel Stiles barely managed not to crack his head open on the corner of the bathtub (and who on earth had his own bathroom with a shower AND a bathtub, anyway?) and covered himself before he finally faced Derek. Who stood in the door and watched the show as if there wasn’t a naked man flailing in his bathroom. “So?”

 

“Yes, I’m alright, thank you,” Stiles managed after his trembling hands had fastened the (tiny) towel around his waist. “I just think your shower doesn’t like me very much.”

 

“Hu?” Stepping over to the nefarious douche (and what a douche!), Derek handled the different knobs and faucets like it wasn’t complicated at all, and soon the room warmed up from the steadily running water in the shower. “This okay?”

 

Stiles could only stand there, mouth agape, staring at both Derek and the shady shower. He almost even forgot about his own state of dress – or lack thereof – when he stepped up to Derek and held his hand under the spray. The temperature was actually- “Nice, thank you.”

 

Derek shot him a quick glance, letting his eyes linger on Stiles’ chest (Stiles crossed his arms over his ribcage, Derek’s upper body still a frequent image on his spank bank, thanks to his ridiculous build), before he took a step back and cleared the way for his guest. “I think it’s just jealous or something. Not that I wouldn’t be… Can’t even imagine my own reaction to you standing naked in front of me. I might just… _squirt_ spontaneously as well.”

And that – that right there! – that was flirting! Derek was flirting with Stiles while Stiles himself was half-naked and, thanks to Derek’s (admittedly awkward) flirting, half-hard. And a little bit happy, too.

Judging by the pained grimace Derek sported only a second after the words had left his mouth, Stiles was happier than he was, at least. “Sorry, uhm, I’ll leave you to your shower, then. Laura called for me.”

 

Stiles refused to let Derek leave while he felt like he’d said something wrong, so he racked his brain for an equally shitty response so that Derek would see they were on the same page. He wasn’t sure the other man would appreciate being compared to Squirtle (would he even get the reference?), and yet: “Squirtle, Water Gun!”

 

The look that earned him was one part confused, one part disbelieving and two parts fond. “Squirtle? Really?! I don’t even get to be Dewott? And Hydro Pump might be more like it, anyway.”

 

Before Stiles could react to this little tidbit of information about the secret dork that is Derek Hale, said Hale had left the bathroom and Stiles was alone again. Derek knew about Pokémon. And not only did he know _about_ Pokémon like Americans knew about Europe (‘Yes, it’s there and some people speak rather fond of it, but details?’), he actually _knew_ Pokémon and didn’t that just rock Stiles’ world?

By now the tiny towel didn’t even try to cover his modesty.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Despite their rocky start Stiles and the shower hit it off pretty well, once they got to know each other a little better. Well enough, in fact, that Stiles hadn’t even noticed someone coming into the bathroom and taking his clothes while he was belting out the Pokémon theme song.

“Pokémon! It’s you and me

I know it’s my destiny~”

 

“Hey Ash,” Erica greeted him when Stiles emerged from the bathroom in Derek’s lent clothes. She was sitting on the monstrosity of a bed and sifted through a magazine, looking comfortable and at home; both things that came pretty natural to her as it was, even more so on a comfortable bed that was standing in, well, her home.

 

“Hey Misty! You seen my Dewott somewhere?” Stiles was still rubbing a towel over his hair; he wasn’t done getting accustomed to having to actually towel dry your hair, not after years of buzz cuts.

 

“Sorry, but I’m not the dork you’re looking for.”

 

Stiles laughed. “You sure about that? You seem to dork just fine!”

 

Erica got up in a liquid move, defying gravity and several other natural laws in the process, until she stood by the door. “No one in this house can hold a candle to Derek’s level of dork, that’s for sure; Isaac tries really hard and Cora manages a close second to her brother when she’s around, but she’s still got things to learn. You on the other hand, you might have a chance at it. Anyway, he’s downstairs and waiting for you. Let me lead the way.”

 

And once again Stiles followed a member of the Hale household down the corridor, down the stairs, through the entrance hall, only this time he actually took in his surroundings – now that he wasn’t distracted by Derek’s everything.

The Hale House was still the Hale House, with its familiar atmosphere and the sounds of people milling about. And still Laura was one of those people.

 

“I wonder if I’ll ever see you not dripping wet in this house,” she teased when Stiles found the Hale siblings in the living room. Derek was lying on the couch, spread out over the whole length and groaning while Laura was sitting right on top of him, digging holes into her brother’s back with her bony behind by the looks of it.

 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Stiles grinned in response, sinking down into one of the cozy arm chairs surrounding the coffee table in the corner of the room. And sinking down was a pretty exact definition of the way he literally sank down into the downy cushions.

 

“She can’t have you _any_ way,” Derek mumbled into the padding his face was mushed against. “No one can!”

 

“Is that so, little brother? I wonder what Stiles has to say to that,” Laura pondered. She even tapped her finger against her pouting lips while she wiggled on top of her ‘cushion’, eliciting a punched out groan of “Your ass is so bony!”

 

“As luck would have it I just had myself in the shower, so you might want to reconsider your statement, Derek,” Stiles teased. Of course he hadn’t jerked off in the shower – that would’ve been all kinds of creepy right there, with Stiles being in Derek’s room for the first time and the whole family in the house.

 

Laura stared at him with amused shock in her eyes for the fraction of a second before she was nearly catapulted off Derek’s back when he jumped up from his involuntarily reclined position. His head faced Stiles with giant nostrils and even bigger eyes. “You didn’t-“

 

The laugh coming from Laura, now sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hopefully distracted from Stiles’ faint blush as he shook his head. “No, just teasing.”

 

“A shame, really.” And just like that Stiles remembered Erica’s presence, as well, and he couldn’t keep himself from joining into Laura’s laughter. The situation was too bizarre not to laugh, really. “Anyway, Talia wanted me to ask if you’re staying for dinner, Stiles. Your clothes will take two hours in the laundry, so you could stay and have dinner with us or you could go home and I’ll take your clothes to university next week.”

 

“I’d love to stay, but I need to feed my dad,” Stiles remembered. “Can’t have him raid the fridge without supervision.” His hosts nodded understandingly and Derek got up from the couch, nostrils back to their normal size.

 

“I’m gonna take you home, then. And don’t worry about your clothes, I can come by tomorrow and bring them.”

 

“Why not take him right here, Derek? I sure wouldn’t mind!” Leerica, dear Ladies and Gentlemen, as she lives and breathes. Before Laura could add her own comment, probably not much better than Erica’s, Derek’s glare (a full on 7 on the Derek scale) stopped her and she bit her lips. For a second, then she said: “Derek will look out for your clothes, Stiles. No one else will touch them!”

When Erica added: “You might have to wash them again at home, though; certain things stain like hell,” with an alarming smirk, Stiles’ confusion was complete.

 

“Come, Stiles, let’s get out of here,” Derek said urgently. And when he was walking mere inches behind Stiles when he ushered him outside, and when Stiles walked just a tiny bit slower than usual, and when he leant back into Derek’s warm hand lying low on his back, no one needed to know.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Derek hadn’t just dropped Stiles off at home. He’d driven up on the driveway, put the gear into park, killed the engine and even put on the hand brake before he’d turned to Stiles and dragged him over the center console and into a deep kiss. “Wanted to do this since I got you out of the well,” he mumbled against Stiles’ lips.

 

“Why haven’t you?” Stiles asked right back, close enough to feel their breath mingling in between their faces.

 

“You stank,” What a mood killer. “But now you don’t. God, Stiles. If you could smell yourself!” Had someone told Stiles this would be the kind of dirty talk he had to look forward to, he would’ve laughed in that person’s face. Now all it did was make him squirm in Derek’s hold, trying to get closer to him so that Derek could get an even deeper whiff of Eau de Stiles. Obviously it was some kind of aphrodisiac for the other man.

 

‘What do I smell like?’, Stiles wanted to ask. “I really have to go, dad’s at home,” he actually said and didn’t know how the words came out so differently. Well, he would ask another time, because his dad chose exactly that moment to open the front door and wave in their direction. Stiles wanted to vanish into thin air. “See you tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Derek promised and let go of him. Stiles stole a last quick peck onto his cheek before he finally got out of the car and watched Derek drive away.

 

 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” the sheriff greeted Stiles in the doorway, grinning apologetically. “I just thought I heard a car come up, but it wasn’t your Jeep. And as the good Sheriff that I am, I had to make sure I wasn’t getting robbed.”

 

“Of course you had to,” Stiles said, clapping on his father’s shoulder before he stopped in his tracks. “Shit, Roscoe!”

 

“Language, Stiles.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I left the Jeep at the preserve! And my keys! And my phone and everything!”

 

“Is this the moment when you explain to me why you’re wearing clothes that you don’t fit into and why I can’t reach your phone?”

Retelling the tale of Stiles in the well never got old, obviously. And Stiles’ dad found just as much entertainment in it as the Hales had. He sobered up when it came to the part where Stiles needed a new phone, though. “This is the, what, fifth time in two years?” But he caught Stiles’ head in a headlock just like he had when Stiles had been younger, so he probably wasn’t all that mad.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Derek had come by the next day to bring Stiles his clothes - stain free and smelling like the familiar detergent Stiles recognized from when he may or may not have nuzzled into Derek's side once or twice - and had handed them over to Stiles in a strangely formal manner. The Sheriff having stood right behind Stiles in the open doorway might have had something to do with that.

After a stiff nod towards Stiles' father, which the Sheriff sternly returned (undoubtedly laughing his ass off in his head), Derek took Stiles to where he'd left his Jeep the day before. The atmosphere in Derek's car was weirdly tense, like a tightly wound rubber band just waiting to snap in someone's face, and yet it was silent between the two passengers.

 

"Sooo," Stiles began, just to let the 'o' fade over a few seconds.

 

"So." Derek affirmed, adding absolutely nothing of sensible value. And yet Stiles thought he seemed wired and on edge; not necessarily in a bad way, though.

After another fifteen minutes of driving through the familiar streets of Beacon Hills, the Black Badass Beast's engine a steadily purring power under the hood, they reached Stiles' (t)rusty Jeep standing at the side of the road. Derek had turned towards Stiles, given him a tight lipped smile and a quick kiss and then taken his leave, muttering about family business. It was all very... _normal_ , in a way it usually wasn't around all things Hale. Except for the energy fizzling under Derek's skin, which was the usual level of weird whenever one of the Hales was involved.

 

;:;:;:;

 

Now Stiles was sitting at his desk, hands buried in his hair and staring at the blinking cursor once more. His Jacward-fanfic was refusing to cooperate, the demands Kazam-kitten, the commissioner, sent him having reached new levels of absurdity, and Stiles was close to giving up.

He'd sent the girl a first draft of what he'd come up with, asked her if she was okay with where this was going and whether she liked his writing style (which should be a given, since he was awesome) and just now he'd read her answer and was a little dumbstruck - which was counterproductive, seeing as he was a writer.

 

"Oh my god!" he groaned into the quiet of his room and couldn't stop tearing at his hair. "Less formal language... Formal?! ME?!? More 1337speak... Like anybody uses that in storytelling!" This was ridiculous. "Edward needs to be sexier than Jacob, she'd said." And that right there might be the worst thing she could've asked for.

In his head, Stiles had begun to see Derek in the role of Jacob, so at least in his head the pairing would look hot; even though he still refused to think of himself as the Edward in that scenario. Too often. Like, under the shower. Anyway, Derek made for a pretty great werewolf, all things considered, and was therefore the hotter one of the two guys by default. But Derek as a vampire? Nope. Just... no.

"I can't do this anymore..."

 

"Can't do what anymore?" a familiar voice caught Stiles off guard, coming from Scott. Who was lounging on his bed in a way that indicated he'd been there for quite a while, probably enjoying Stiles' story struggle. "That True Blood thing you're always whining about?"

 

"Not True Blood, Scott. Twilight. It's Twilight." Scott's grossed out facial expression spoke volumes of sympathy and pity. "See? That's why I can't do this anymore."

 

Scott nodded gravely, like he was saying he totally got Stiles' point, but quickly switched trains of thoughts and his face lit up. "I'm taking you out!"

 

And that right there was why they called crazy people 'lunatic' - Scott was clearly influenced by the full moon tonight. If Stiles stared at his best friend in clear bewilderment, no one was there to see it but Scott. "I'm not... What?! Scott, Derek and I haven't even 'done the deed', so I'm a little unsure about his standing on threesomes, even more so for our first time."

 

"WHAT?! No! Stiles!!" Now Scott looked almost as baffled as Stiles probably did. "Ew! No, not like that! You know you're my brother from another mother - and father, actually - but that-- No, just. No. Bro time, Stiles. Like we did ages ago! You, me, the arcade. Grab a bite somewhere, some bro-nding."

 

"Allison not free tonight?" As much as they both enjoyed their bro-nding, tonight's spontaneous bro-time was probably courtesy to Allison taking a rain-check. Not that Stiles was bitter. Or missing Stiles/Scott-time. Much.

 

"No. And I already booked a table at _Juan's_ ," Scott said it like 'Choo-Anns', despite his Mexican heritage, "and they won't let me book a table there again if I don't turn up tonight."

 

"Aw, so I'm your fill-in for a romantic candlelight dinner at a Mexican restaurant? That's so cute of you! All my life I waited for you to finally realize we were meant to be and now that we finally left our High School Douche Days behind us you caught up," Stiles joked; he couldn't be all that upset with Scott. In between studying and their respective significant others, they hadn't spent as much time in each other's presence than they were used to - or comfortable with. "So wine and dine me and we'll see where this illicit affair of us leads us to."

 

;:;:;:;

 

It led them straight to _Juan's_ , where a slightly puzzled waiter ("Welcome at _Juan's_ , my name is Adrian and I'm your waiter tonight. Let me lead you to your - oh...") showed them to their table, tucked into a dark nook of the restaurant, hidden from passing glances. Two candles and a vase with several red roses completed the romantic setup and Stiles shot Scott a meaningful glance.

"Bro-nding , hu? I take it Allison's cancelation came short notice?"

 

Scott looked down at his own feet and shrugged, but his voice betrayed how upset he was when he mumbled a few words about something having come up with Alli's father. Chris Argent's standing on Allison dating a veterinarian-to-be wasn't a secret, probably too little violence for the arms dealer.

Although Allison's chosen career - biologist/park ranger in Beacon Hills' very own nature preserve - wasn't all that violence promising, either.

 

Before Scott could sink even deeper into the pit of star-crossed love that was the McCall-Argent relationship, Stiles patted him on the shoulder and sank down onto one of the uncomfortable looking cane chairs, making gooey eyes at his friend. "I expect a violinist playing our song later on, just so you know."

The waiter left them with the menus and a deeply judging look.

 

 

In the end they'd had a lot of fun, acting all lovestruck whenever the prejudiced waiter was in sight until their table was assigned another waitress. Shelley was all kinds of cool and therefore rewarded with a respectable tip and strict orders to make sure Adrian wouldn't see a single cent of it. She laughed and folded the note before she stuffed it into her bra with a wink.

"He wishes he could be where that went!"

 

;:;:;:;

 

After some quality bro-time Scott left Stiles at his doorstep, grinning wildly up at him from the open car window. "You know, you're a pretty good substitute for Allison, all things considered."

 

"You really should've kept your mouth shut after 'pretty', Scott," Stiles scoffed and hit his fried over the back of his head. "Way to ruin the mood. And here I was hoping for a good-night kiss!"

 

Scott wrestled himself half out of the window and craned up to Stiles until he could press a wet, slobbery kiss on his cheek with a smile. Then he _licked_ Stiles' face and vanished into the night, his laughter ringing through the air over the sound of the car.

 

'Weirdo,' Stiles thought fondly and made his way into the house, grinning over his best friend's attics. He greeted his dad in the living room, where the sheriff was busy destroying whatever brain capacity his job had left him after years and years of sheriffing in the small town of Beacon Hills watching the Kardashians. The Sheriff didn't even look embarrassed at the disbelieving stare Stiles shot him and just cranked up the volume, hence having Kim's squealing chase Stiles up the stairs and into the (relatively) sane sanctuary that was his room.

 

The window stood open, leaving a fresh breeze coming in through the blinds and filling the room with the fresh smell of a pleasant summer night. Too bad, really, that Stiles hadn't been out with Derek instead of Scott. He's fairly sure he wouldn't be in his room right now in that case, would probably be out in the park or wandering down Beacon Hills' vacated sidewalks.

 

While Stiles contemplated whether they'd be holding hands while strolling through Beacon Hills at night, the wind had changed direction and now came blowing from the direction of the preserve and therefore from where the Hales lived as well.

Along the rich smell of old forest and fresh leaves, the faint sound of howling filled Stiles' room, soon followed by more howling in the woods. It sounded delighted and free, wild and untamed under the full moon. It sounded like fun, and the answering wolves, because that's what had to make these sounds, added a layer of 'together' and 'family' in a way Stiles missed since his mother had died.

 

But all depressing thoughts were literally blown away when another howl pierced the night, this one way nearer than the others had been. In fact, it sounded like it came from just below Stiles' window!

In a ~~panicked~~ excited step Stiles was at his window, the blinds shoved to the side to give way so he could take a look in the garden. The garden where usually grass had free reign over pretty much everything, even the flowerbeds, until dad decided it was time to win back at least some of the open space behind the house (read: Stiles was to mow the lawn, what he'd probably need a harvester for) so they could build a deck back there (read: things that'll never happen).

 

Only now, now there wasn't just grass behind the Stilinski house, wasn't just waist-high weeds as far as the eye reached. No, there was a dark figure crouching in the greens, obscured by darkness and megalomaniac blades of grass, head laid back into the neck and producing a howl that was power and belonging, just like the others had been. But, at least to Stiles, it felt like there was longing, too, wishing for something.

And, strangely enough, he wasn't afraid of the freakishly huge wolf sitting under his window and _serenading_ him. Stiles even answered with what could generously be called a howl and was realistically not much more than a warbling mewl, probably.

 

The wolf, staring up at Stiles' window, cocked his head to the side and made a chuffing noise, like he was trying to hide a laugh and failing miserably, and then bolted into the night when the backdoor to the yard opened (Stiles could see the light pouring through the door opening) and John Stilinski, upstanding Sheriff of Beacon Hills, stood in the doorway with his service weapon pointed into the night, body clad in a ratty wife beater and slightly sagging pajama bottoms.

At least his face was all righteous duty, Stiles guessed and couldn't stop the snicker the image of his father threatening the night in his undies elicited.

And then he laughed some more once he recounted all the mushy thoughts running through his head, only because it was night and it was the full moon and he missed Derek even though they only had been together for a short time and he missed his mother and. Well. 'Lunatic' wasn't just a word, it was a condition.

The full moon watched Stiles sink to the floor giggling, keeping all his judgy thoughts to itself at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini chapter from me, just to let you know I'm still alive. And yes, that's exactly it, because I got a few mails asking me whether I was, indeed, dead. I'm not, thank god. Though it might have felt like a likely outcome these last few months - writing a Bachelor's Thesis on top of everything else (like my old laptop dying on me out of nowhere, more hours at work, my car needing to be fixed...) going on ate up the last of my energy. -.-
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long! And I sincerely hope it won't take this long again until I get back to writing chapters as long as I used to. :$  
> As anytime, and maybe now even more (because I feel like this story could go a thousand directions from here) I'd love to hear (or, well, read) what you think of my "Head Canon", what could be better, what better be changed, the likes. Thank you all for reading and sticking with me, anyway! :)


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